


In The Here And Now

by SpaceCaseWriter13



Series: Find Your Way Home [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Depression, Disordered Eating, Flashbacks, Gen, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Murder, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Sexual Content, Multi, PTSD, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, cartel violence, slowest of slow burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2020-10-25 00:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 247,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20715404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCaseWriter13/pseuds/SpaceCaseWriter13
Summary: After two years on the run and three and a half months in cryo-stasis, Bucky Barnes is adjusting to living the slow life in Wakanda. While more than occupied with piecing together his memory and tending to his small herd of goats, his past continues to haunt him and what it means for the future. Meanwhile, still laying low just south of the border Magdalene “Maggie” Ramirez is trying to find a way back home. Through a series of miscommunications and happenstance Bucky and Maggie find themselves face to face, as they both try to reconcile their pasts while also having to deal with a simple reality, they’re stuck with each other for the foreseeable future. Can they learn to live with themselves and each other? Can they learn to live in the here and now?





	1. Regrets and Remedies

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas, Have you Ever Seen the Rain by Creedence Clearwater Revival, Ain’t No Grave by Johnny Cash, Stay with Me by Sam Smith, 20 Years by the Civil Wars
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/1253302637/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=QhKcLKgoTXmf1CQsmSwY2g

_Cold. Blistering unrelenting cold._

_He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t move._

_“They’re pulling me. They have a mission for me for the soldier.” _The thought cut through the din with amazing sharpness and clarity.

_His limbs tingled, so cold they felt like they were on fire. His left shoulder felt lighter. _

_“My Arm. The Arm. Hydra had taken the Arm.” __That _was his next thought. _They’d taken it, for punishment or humiliation, he didn’t know, but they’d reattach it. This was there was of reminding him who they were, of who the soldier belonged to._

_He tried to breathe but was met with crushing, freezing cold. He was drowning like he was under a frozen lake. His lungs ached, and any moment he_ _’d suffocate. He gasped for air, breaking the surface of the invisible frozen lake of cryo and into the waking world. He gulped down air, his chest heaving, vision blurring in and out of focus, his limbs burned._

_Voices warbled far away, they were speaking to him. He grasped helplessly at the words, trying to decipher their meaning. What did they want? Oh God, if he didn’t respond they’d punish him, they’d hurt him._

_“_ _Bucky, Bucky, are you with us?”_ A voice broke through the fog.

_“_ _Steve?” He recognized that voice, and he could feel his face being cupped by two very warm, strong, but gentle hands. _

_“_ _I’m right here, Buck. You’re all right. I’ve got you.” Steve’s voice floated in through the fog. _

_“_ _Steve?” _He managed again, with a little more strength.

_“_ _I’m here, Buck. I’m not going anywhere.”_

Bucky exhaled, blinking. The hot Wakandan afternoon sun was bearing down on him, but he didn’t mind the heat, he’d had enough cold to last a lifetime.

He glanced around at the rolling fields. His small herd grazed contentedly, not too far away. The grass was tall and yellow from the heat and sun. The skies were blue and cloudless, making the horizon stretch one for miles where the snow-capped mountains loomed overhead, and the lush jungles tinged the landscape with hues of greens. It was a scene worthy of poets or painters, of which he was neither.

_Did Steve still paint and draw? _He couldn’t help but wonder. He could remember the mess of papers and crushed graphite strewn across the floor, the countless drawings and redrawing that Steve had done. He remembered the pennies scraped together to afford more paper and pencils, and the smile that the small gift had brought to Steve’s drawn face as he lay recovering from some illness or another.

_No, he wouldn’t have had much time to draw. _Bucky shook his head and looked down at the journal spread across his lap.

He’d never had much of a mind for drawing or painting, or anything like that. That had always been Steve’s particular gift. He hadn’t even been much of a poet either. He had penned a few lines of poetry as a lovesick teen, though he’d forbidden Steve from letting anyone else see, and well, the girls he’d written poems to weren’t exactly around anymore to share what they’d read.

Bucky exhaled, examining the bright white crisp pages, still blank and untouched. The pages crackled with potential, of everything he could say, might say, everything that he should say. He held the pen poised, ready to make its first marks. What was there to say? What would be the best way to summarize what had happened since he’d been pulled from cryo-stasis? What was there to say now that he was a free man, cured, and now able to live his life? And If he really was a free man, then why didn’t he feel like it?

It had been about a month and a half since Princess Shuri had pulled him from cryo and a month since he’d moved to a remote goat village in the Wakandan countryside.

The village had agreed to take him in. Omondi, the village elder, had pledged to keep an eye on him, give him something to do, and make him a member of the community. They called him the White Wolf. Not exactly the most subtle of honorifics, being the only white man in an African country, but it did mean that he was apart of their community, apart of Wakanda.

They’d given him a little hut, on the edge of the village, and a small heard of goats to look after, in addition to helping Omondi bag and distribute feed to the nearby villages. It was quiet, peaceful, and it had given him a lot of time and space to try and think through everything that had happened since June and since the fall in 1945.

While he’d thought about it, he hadn’t been brave or stupid enough to ask The King if there was any way he could get his Journals back from his apartment in Romania. It was why he’d asked The Princess for the journal and pen. Yet, he still couldn’t bring himself to start to write. There had been so much in his first one, so much research, so much time. The task of recreating that journal from scratch was daunting. Could he re-live the anguish and the pain that had forged the other one? The hours upon hours spent, pouring over documents and starring at names, wracking his brain for any detail or hint of what his life had been, and doing his best to forget the blood that had been spilled by his hand.

The wind stirred, blowing the grass and rustling the trees. Shaking his head, he closed the journal with an irritated snap and stowed the pen and journal away in his satchel.

He’d have time later to write. It would come to him. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have the time. He had all the time in the world. He hadn’t received many visitors, other than the local children who liked to watch him work. Communication with Steve had been sparse as well. While he’d been there when Bucky had been pulled from Cryo, he’d been called away while Bucky had still been in the middle of tests and scans. They’d said goodbye, and Steve had promised he’d be back as soon as he could, but since then, he hadn’t heard anything else out of Steve.

It didn’t surprise Bucky, the man was on the run, while also trying to keep acting as a de-facto Avenger. That took a lot of time and energy. Steve had his hands full without having to deal with him.

Bucky stopped, turning at the sound of approaching footsteps, and immediately found the Princess Shuri followed by none other than Steve Rogers approaching where he was sitting.

“Hey, white boy! I come bearing gifts!” The Princess called, waving as they continued toward him. “Gift!” She amended, motioning with her head to Steve. “I would’ve called to warn you, but you never wear the Kimoyo Bracelet I gave you.”

“I don’t like the idea of being tracked," Bucky answered dryly as he rose to his feet and turned to face them squarely. _Given my history._ He added silently. “But, I appreciate the personal delivery.”

“Well, since he’s never been out this way before, figured we didn’t want him getting eaten by panthers before he could make it to you.”

“Very thoughtful.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky could see Steve following their exchange like he was watching a tennis match, his gaze moving intently back and forth, uncertainly written on his expression. He looked grave. His features pinched, though most of his face was hidden behind the beginnings of an ample beard.

“Well, my job is done. Mr. Rogers, I have helped you to your Mr. Barnes, I will let you two get properly reacquainted.” Princess Shuri said lightly, “Are we still on for our appointment at the end of the week?” She asked as she turned to walk back down the path they’d come.

“Of course. Unless something changes.”

“Unless something changes.” She echoed. “See you later, white boy.” She called before walking away and down the path out of sight.

It was only when the Princess had gone that Bucky turned to Steve. Beyond looking grave, Steve looked beaten up and exhausted. He was still wearing his Captain America Uniform, though much of the adornment had been removed and spray painted over. While he bore no dark rings or sunken features, Bucky could see other signs of exhaustion. A certain weariness in the way that he carried himself from his hunched shoulders to the way he just let his arms hang beside him.

“How you been, Buck?” Steve asked. Bucky couldn’t help but not the slightest edge of tension in his voice, as the other man surveyed him. Like he was trying to read him like he was trying to figure out where he stood before he made a wrong move.

_Because you flinched._

Bucky hadn’t meant to. He’d still been in a post cryo fog. Steve had been hovering, warmth and concern radiating off him in waves. Then he’d put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Nothing more, nothing less, but he’d flinched, pulling away from Steve’s touch.

He’d looked up to see pain in Steve’s eyes and chiseled into the grit of his jaw.

Bucky had managed an apology, but it had been shortly after that Steve had gotten the urgent call.

_I will let you two get properly reacquainted._

The Princess knew something was up. Of course, the Princess knew she’d been prodding around in his brain. She probably knew more about him than he did at the moment.

So what could he tell Steve? What should he tell Steve? That he was still having nightmares and waking up in cold sweats? That he could remember in vivid detail the color and shape of their couch back in Brooklyn in addition to the hundreds of deaths he’d been a party to? What would put his mind at ease without completely lying about the reality of the situation? He was him, but he wasn’t entirely sure what that meant still.

“Better.” He managed, surveying Steve as carefully as he was surveying him. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Steve nodded.

They sunk on the ground, in the little patch of grass that Bucky had flattened throughout the afternoon. His bag and water skin were arranged atop a blanket woven with blue and black designs, a red stripe accenting the pattern. From the nest he’d made, Bucky could see his small herd of goats and the Wakandan children who were playing some distance away. Steve sat down carefully as if he was afraid he might break something. His entire being looked tightly coiled and ready to snap as he sat cross-legged on the blanket beside him.

Bucky cracked a small smile, trying to put Steve at ease. Not only that, but it had also been a long time since they’d been alone together, and after everything that had happened, they were fortunate to get this chance. He _was _happy to see Steve. He’d thought about the man a lot while he was on the run and almost every day since he’d been pulled out of cryo. If he could dream in cryo, he would’ve probably had seen him in his dreams while he was under too. Now, he was sitting here next to him, there was so much to say, and little indication of where they should begin.

“I’m sorry. I tried to get away sooner.” Steve began after a moment.

There was a twinge of guilt in Bucky’s stomach at Steve’s word. He should be out there, with Steve and the others. He’d helped get them into this mess. He should be out there trying to make it right. “You haven’t missed much.” He shrugged as casually as he could manage with only one arm. “Mostly scans, tests, and—” He was cut off by the sound of a bleating goat.

“Goats?” Steve supplied with an amused smirk.

“Yeah. Goats.” Bucky suppressed a wince, waiting for the, “_Really Buck? You Goats?” _comment that was going to come. He’d spent most of his life in the city, and the most he’d been around farm animals was likely the two weeks he’d spent on Last Chance Ranch. He wasn’t necessarily predisposed to looking after farm animals, never mind in the middle of nowhere.

“The Princess told me she moved you out here while your brain is healing. Minimizing stimuli.” Steve continued.

“She told me she kept you up to date on all news while I was under.”

“Yeah. She did.” Steve paused, giving him a once over. “It’s good to see you up and walking around again.”

“Yeah. It’s good to be upright.” He agreed.

What Steve had failed to mention was that he’d been an absolute wreck the entire time he’d been under and that she’d kept him up to date so that he would stop checking in every few hours. In Steve’s defense, he couldn’t blame the man, exactly. He understood why the man would be nervous about the whole thing. Yet the picture the Princess had painted for him in the weeks that followed “The Great Thaw Out” as she’d put it, was not a pretty one, which begged the question of how the rest of the group was doing.

“How’s Wilson?” He asked.

“Sam’s good," Steve answered shortly.

“That’s good.”

That had been one thing he and Steve had managed to talk about in his brief lucid moment before Steve had been called away. Shortly after he’d been put under, Steve had sprung Wilson and Maximoff, while Scott and Clint had taken a plea deal. Romanoff was still MIA. It was a small consolation of sorts, knowing that they were safe, or as safe as anyone could be while on the run, but it still didn’t completely curb the guilt that he felt for being responsible for getting them into this mess in the first place.

There was a long pause before Steve spoke again. “He does ask about you. Wants to know how you’re doing.” He said slowly.

_Of course, he does._ Bucky wasn’t sure about how he felt about that. After all, he had tried to kill the man three times and had gotten him into life-threatening situations more than he cared to think about. They were no longer enemies, but after everything, Bucky felt that Wilson’s kindness was unwarranted and undeserved. “It’s good to know you have someone like him, watching your back," Bucky said, lamely. What else was there to say? _Sorry that I tried to kill your partner, like three times?_ Bucky didn’t foresee that having the desired effect.

“I don’t deserve him. Especially after everything I’ve put him through.”

Bucky snorted, “No. You don’t. But I _am_ glad you have someone like him.”

Steve surveyed him carefully before proceeding. “How much do you remember about...about us?”

_Ah. Here we go._ This was what Steve had been trying to get at, trying to find a way to bring up ever since...well ever since Bucharest. It was something he’d also been puzzling through and trying to get a handle on. He knew what they were, or what they’d been, what was really the problem was, could he return to that?

“A lot, most of it now, I think.” he paused. “You and Wilson...are you...I mean.” Bucky struggled to find the right words. “Stepping out..together?” It sounded so old fashioned, even as the words crossed his lips and reached his ears. If he’d been inclined to it, he would’ve been embarrassed for himself. But the words had gotten their point across, and that was all that mattered.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded.

“I’m glad.”

“Buck, it doesn’t mean—”

“I’ve been gone a long time, Steve.” Bucky cut him off. “I’m glad for you and Sam. Even if the guy has zero sense of self perseveration, I’m glad you’ve got someone like him. Someone _stable._”

It still didn’t answer Steve’s unspoken question, _“what about us?” _Bucky could still see Steve’s expression when he had pulled away from his touch. It was burned, seared into his memory, and it still stung, for both of them.

Ultimately, this wasn’t about Wilson. Steve being in a relationship with Sam, didn’t change anything between them. Back before the fall, before life had made things even more messy and complicated than it already was, they’d had an understanding. They had always possessed the capacity to love more than one person, and so it was understood they would date and likely marry other people, but that they would love each other no matter what. In a small way, Bucky was relieved that for Steve, at the very least, that hadn’t changed.

This was about him, what he wanted, and what he was capable of. It didn’t matter what he _wanted_. At the moment, it was about what needed to happen. He didn’t know if he was going to wake up the same person he went to sleep as if he woke up at all. After everything that had happened, he didn’t know who he was or who he wanted to be, never mind what type of person he’d be in a relationship. He was Bucky Barnes, but he wasn’t the Bucky who had fallen from the train. He wasn’t what Steve needed right now. There was no way he could be.

“I’m glad you have Wilson.” He said.

But what did he have? Sure he had Steve. And Steve would be more than happy to pick up right where they’d left off. But he couldn’t just pick back up where they’d left off. He was different, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Steve would take him as he was now.

Bucky wanted Steve to hold him. He wanted to be held. He wanted Steve to tell him that things were going to be okay. But he couldn’t, not when he couldn’t trust himself not to flinch, not to pull away, and it would be even harder to bear the look of pain he’d cause on Steve’s face.

After a moment, Steve nodded but said nothing, as both of them searched for something to say.

How long had they been together? What did Wilson think about all of this bullshit with him, Hydra, and the UN bombings? Had Steve met Wilson’s Family? What were they like? Had Steve taken Wilson to meet Carter before she’d passed away? Had Wilson met Becca? They’d been practically family back before the war, and thick as thieves when it came to getting him into trouble, it would only make sense if Steve had sought out Becca’s blessing with his new beau. “Did you take Wilson over to meet my Sister?” Bucky asked.

“I did.” Steve nodded. “She liked Sam.”

_Liked._ Past tense. They glanced at one another in the long pregnant silence, as mutual looks of grief and sorrow passed between them.

“I’m sorry Buck—”

“We’ve both lost people, Steve.” He cut him off. There was nothing more that needed to be said. He’d lost Becca recently, and Steve had lost Carter. No amount of condolences was going to touch the pain they both felt.

He’d read about Carter’s passing, shortly before everything had happened with the UN and his escape attempt from Bucharest. He couldn’t imagine the pain that Steve was feeling. Sure, to him, Becca had been a connection to a past, his past, a time of innocence, a time before the bloodshed, and war, and time had had its way with him. But for Steve, Bucky had a feeling that Carter meant something _slightly_ different. Carter was less about what had been, and more about what could’ve been. Which Bucky, for his part, would argue was worse. Becca had lived a full life: she’d gotten an education, she’d traveled, started a family and created a family of her own, she’d been an activist and an all-around amazing human being. While Bucky had his regrets, he couldn’t say that he regretted the type of person that Becca had become, even in his absence. She’d lived her life, and he was glad for that.,

However, for Steve, Carter had been the last link to what could have been, the reminder of what he’d lost. The chance at a normal life. Carter was the representation of every hope, every dream, every past and future that should have been that could now never be. That Steve could never have. More so than even that, Carter had seen Steve and loved Steve as Bucky had loved Steve. Not as Captain America, war hero, and now Avenger. No, Carter had seen and loved Steve, the kid from Brooklyn, small, fragile, asthmatic, too dumb to run away from a fight. That was worth something, that was worth _everything._ To be loved as the person you are, rather than the person people expected you to be, the person the world had transformed you into.

Bucky’s thoughts drifted back to the obituary photograph, at the smiling faces, preserved in time. A family and a life that he hadn’t been able to participate in. Yet he felt so intimately attached to them. Then, his thoughts turned to Ramirez. She had been in that photograph, enjoying and partaking in a life and a moment that by all rights should’ve been his. He wanted to hate her, but he couldn’t. She hadn’t chosen that, she hadn’t chosen to have her life ripped away from her violently. She was a victim just like the rest of them, more so than the rest of them even.

He looked over at Steve. He’d turned his eyes to the grassland, surveying the herd of goats, and watching the children as they laughed and played their games. Steve hadn’t mentioned anything about Ramirez, at all, not during their flight between Berlin and Siberia, not between Siberia and Wakanda, and not before or after he’d been in cryo. What was she to Steve? Bucky had heard Wilson and Steve whispering, trying to get ahold of her during the few hours they’d had before the brawl at the airport. But since then, Steve hadn’t said anything. He needed to know. Needed confirmation that he wasn’t imagining it. She was alive, and she was missing.

“You haven’t found her yet, have you?” He asked absently.

“What?” Steve turned his head so fast Bucky was almost sure he’d have snapped his neck if not for the serum.

Steve’s eyes searched him; his expression bent in equal parts surprise and pain. Panic surged in the pit of Bucky’s stomach. He could always play it off, ask about Romanoff, ask about anything other than Ramirez. _No. _He’d asked, and he wanted answers. This was the only way forward. “Wilson’s friend, Ramirez."

“How’d-”

“Becca’s obituary photo," Bucky explained shortly.

Steve’s mouth formed a silent, “Oh."

“You haven’t found her, have you?” He repeated.

Steve looked down at the ground, shaking his head.

“She was helping you track me down.”

“Yeah.” He sighed, combing his hands through his hair.

_Becca, what did she tell Becca? _Bucky wanted to scream, but he clamped down on the urge, shoving it away. There were other things at stake here—bigger things at stake.

“I should never have gotten her involved in all of this," Steve said as he rubbed his face with his hands.

_You’re just now figuring this out? _He would’ve asked, but he didn’t. Steve looked horrible already, and if blame were to be laid at anyone’s feet, it wouldn’t be Steve’s, it would be his.

Blame, however, wasn’t going to get anything done. Blame and guilt weren’t going to fix this problem, and it was a problem. A_ HUGE _problem. Bucky’s mind kicked into gear, pulling out the journal and pen from his satchel he started writing. ‘M. Ramirez, person of interest, connections to S. Rogers, S. Wilson, and R. Romanoff, information about B. Barnes,’ He paused. ‘In journal collected as evidence in Romania.’ _Fuck. _She was in trouble. Bucky looked up at Steve, “How much does she know?”

Steve, who’d been watching him write, met his gaze, and the expression on his face spoke volumes. He didn’t even need to say anything for Bucky to know the answer. _A Lot. _Why had Steve done that? Why had he allowed her to immerse herself in this world? Well, Steve’s reaction made sense now, at the very least.

“Could she compromise us?” It was a cold question, a self-interested question, but a necessary one.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Steve, could she compromise us?” Bucky asked, his voice taking on a harsher tone than he’d meant it to.

“I don’t know," Steve said after a tense moment. “Probably. Yes. Romanoff would know more about it than I would.”

_Of course, she would._ Romanoff had probably trained her up, taught her how to survive for when things went sideways. Natasha had never liked an unfair fight, and Ramirez versus the entire international intelligence community was not exactly even odds.

Bucky looked Steve over. He could see the anguish and frustration in Steve’s features, from the grit in his jaw to the tension in his shoulders and back. Steve felt personally responsible for what had happened to this woman. For his part, Bucky did too. Most of this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t stumbled onto her ranch. But that wasn’t the source of Steve’s pain. It wasn’t the initial injury, the initial hurt, the initial reason that she was involved in all of this. It was what had transpired the two years after Last Chance that was putting her in danger now. It was putting them all in danger. If someone got ahold of her, she could likely be pumped for information or used to lure Wilson and the others out of hiding. Steve was a loyal person, to a fault, and it seemed that Wilson was the same way. She would be a useful bargaining chip to anyone who knew how to apply the right pressure.

“Where have you tried looking?” Bucky asked.

“We know she crossed the border, but we haven’t been able to find anything else.” Steve shook his head. “We haven’t been able to do much since we’ve been on the run.”

“That’s understandable.” Bucky nodded.

“How’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Stay on the run for that long?”

What was there to say? It hadn’t been fun or comfortable. It had been about survival, about keeping out of enemy hands, including Steve’s. “Well, I wasn’t hauling around extra people and a quinjet, Steve. That tends to attract a lot of attention.” He tried to play it off for a laugh but cleared his throat when he saw Steve’s expression. “It’s about making your footprint small, wherever you go. It’s about having contingencies, and knowing when to move and when to stay put. It’s a skill. It takes practice.” He paused.

_Romanoff must have helped her, must have trained her up. It was the only explanation. _If Steve and the others couldn’t find Romanoff, he was the next best chance they had at finding Ramirez. But first, he had to know.

“The woman. Ramirez, was she--I mean were she and Becca friends?” He managed after a moment. Steve’s answer wouldn’t change anything. He was still going to help him find her. She had risked her neck for him, and now was in trouble because of him, but he needed to know what kind of person Ramirez was, beyond his own recollection, and what type of person his sister had thought she was.

“Yeah. They were.” Steve nodded. “They got close. Becca loved Ramirez. Ramirez took Becca’s death hard.” He chuckled sourly, shaking his head, wincing, “_really_ hard.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, pulling at some of the grass just beyond the border of the blanket. There was a story there, a story they didn’t have time for at the moment, but perhaps if they managed to find and rescue Ramirez, he’d get to hear it. He was going to find Ramirez for Steve, and for Becca, and because this wasn’t just about a single person. This was someone who could compromise Steve, Wilson, and expose him and the Wakandans. She wasn’t just someone who knew a lot about him. This wasn’t his sister’s friend or the woman who’d sheltered and protected him. Right now, she was a threat. He glanced up at Steve. Of course, that wasn’t how Steve saw it, but perhaps he should.

“Steve. I’m going to help you find Ramirez.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes. I do.” Bucky said shortly. “Romanoff was your best chance at finding Ramirez, but I’m your next best option.” Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Bucky charged on. “You may not want to hear this, Steve, but she’s worth more alive than dead.” He faltered a moment at Steve’s expression. He didn’t regret saying it. It needed to be said. “She’s dangerous, Steve.” He continued. “If Ross or anyone else gets their hands on her, this will end badly. For you, for me, for Sam, for the Wakand-” He stopped. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“Have you told the King about Ramirez?”

“No? Why?”

Bucky hesitated. How best to say what needed to be said. “While I was on the run, I kept a journal.” He began haltingly, “It was the one in my apartment, in Bucharest.” Bucky exhaled slowly before continuing. “It had pages on Ramirez, what I remembered about Last Chance Ranch and about her. If the UN collected that journal as evidence for the bombings, then they already know about Ramirez and the implications of aiding and abetting a known international war criminal and fugitive. She’s a threat to Wakandan national security.”

Steve nodded, rising to his feet. “I need to go.”

Bucky rose as well. “I’m going with you.”

“No.” Steve shook his head. “I can’t ask you to get involved in all of this.”

“I wasn’t asking permission, Steve," Bucky replied shortly. Pausing, he added, “She’s in trouble because of me. It’s the least I can do.”

“She isn’t in trouble because of you, Bucky.”

“It doesn’t matter who’s at fault,” Bucky’s voice was sharper than he meant it to be. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “She helped me, and it cost her everything. If I _don’t _help, what does her sacrifice mean?” It sounded nobler than it felt, but it was the truth.

If he didn’t help now, that was a choice, that was a choice he would have to live with. This was his fault, and it would be part of making things right. Regardless of blame, he would bear some of the responsibility for what happened to Ramirez.

“Okay.”

“I’ll get the kids to look after the Goats, we’ll go back to my place, and I’ll call ahead to the Princess. You should get a hold of Wilson, whatever intel you have on Ramirez will be useful and be a useful peace offering.”

“Peace offering?” Steve echoed.

“They’re not going to be pleased that Ramirez has been walking around with all that information in her head, never mind that it could compromise and put Wakanda at risk.”

“Right.”

They worked quickly, and after dropping off the blanket and making a few calls, they made their way to the capital in silence.

It wasn’t a far walk, Wakanda as a country wasn’t huge, and within half an hour they were across the prairie, and the massive skyscrapers of the capital rose before them. They wound through the busy streets receiving plenty of double-takes and stares. It was loud and crowded, and it put Bucky on edge. People mercifully created a path for them as they walked, but he could feel his heart pounding in his throat, and his eyes swiveled back and forth, prepared for just about anything. The Princess had said that a low stimuli environment would be good for him while his brain repaired itself, but he had to admit, he did appreciate the isolation of his little hut in the countryside and was eager to return to it. However, despite his discomfort, they had to take care of this one thing, and then perhaps he could find a more restful peace amongst the goats in the grass.

As approached the front steps of the palace, they were met by no less than The King, The Princess, The General, and several Dora and War Dogs Bucky didn’t know, who wordlessly ushered them inside an office. It was high above the city, and Bucky could see the comings and goings down in the city below, and well out to the plains and mountains that created the border of the small country. The Doras and the War dogs filed in, The General closing the door behind her with a snap.

“Please, take a seat.” T’Challa motioned to the squat chairs around a low table. It had a diorama of Birnin Zana, the Capitol of Wakanda, but Bucky was almost positive that it could be configured to suit the needs of whatever the King needed.

The King sunk into his chair at the head of the table, and Steve followed, and The Princess followed. Bucky hesitated, watching the General for his cue, she nodded, pointing with her chin to a seat. He nodded in response and did as quietly instructed before she also sat down, laying her spear across her lap. The War Dogs and other Doras remained standing, providing more than enough in the way of security should he or Steve decide to do _anything_ they didn’t like.

“So, what is it you have to tell us?” T’Challa inquired pleasantly, his cat-like eyes surveying them cooly.

Steve glanced at Bucky, who nodded, silently urging him to proceed. _You know more than I do._

Steve took a deep breath before he addressed the King’s quiet, piercing gaze. “Magdalene Ramirez, a civilian operative working with Samuel Wilson and myself to track down James Barnes over the last two years, went missing shortly before the bombing at the UN in Vienna June 22, 2016. Since her disappearance, we have, thus far, been unsuccessful in our attempts to make contact with her. We have reason to believe she possesses sensitive information that could potentially compromise,” Steve faltered, taking another deep breath charged on. “We have reason to believe she has information that could compromise Wakandan security, should she be found and interrogated by hostile parties.”

_Hostile parties, yeah, that’s certainly one way to say anyone and everyone who might want to know where the Winter Soldier ended up. _Bucky couldn’t help but think, as he watched the young monarch’s expression closely.

For his part, T’Challa’s expression gave away nothing, and after a moment, he spoke. “This woman, Magdalene Ramirez, is she a personal friend of yours?”

“Yes.”

T'Challa glanced over at the General before Okoye turned her eyes to Steve. “Why was this not brought to our attention before?” 

“Because he didn’t know she was mentioned in the property seized by the UN, and I didn’t know she was missing.” Bucky cut in, addressing The General directly.

“When Barnes brought this to my attention, he immediately recommend that I advise you to the situation and turn overall intel we’ve collected thus far in our search for her," Steve said shortly, his attention now turned to the General.

The glower they shared would’ve been enough to cut diamonds, vibranium, or anything else for that matter. But Okoye wasn’t wrong. Steve _should’ve _said something, but then Steve hadn’t known that she was in Bucky’s journal either. So once again, this all came back to him.

“I understand your concern, General, but what’s past is past. Barnes and Rogers are trying to make amends for their previous inaction.” T’Challa interceded, graciously. “Would you be averse to presenting that intel for us now, Captain?”

“Not at all.”

Steve flicked the data file from the Kimoyo bracelet Bucky had let him borrow, out into the center of the room, and the scant traces that they’d found of her circled just over their heads in flickering purplish-blue holograms. Bucky grimaced. He’d honestly seen better intel written on the back of a napkin in lipstick. But then again, Wilson and Steve weren’t spies, they were soldiers, and had taken a soldier’s approach to try to find Ramirez.

A cell phone taped to the undercarriage of a semi, clothes waded up and thrown into the bottom of a trash can at a rest stop, bus tickets, plane ticks, receipts, a passport scan at the U.S. Mexico border. There was also her banking statements, where there were charges for a Bus ticket from Abilene to Mexico City. Then she’d bought a bus ticket for a few days later, leaving Mexico City to Cozumel. There was a receipt for a cruise and a booking confirmation number at an all-expenses-paid resort. She’d even used Groupon. There were also consistent withdraws of five-hundred dollars dating back months.

It was a smokescreen, an impressive and elaborate smokescreen, but hastily and inexpertly executed. The purchases were made to look like she was headed in a particular direction. Bucky knew without asking that Steve and Sam had checked up on every one of them. It was the ATM withdraws that intrigued Bucky.

Ramirez had been making ATM withdraws of about five-hundred bucks a week for at least six months before her disappearance. She’d been trying to make it look random. She’d draw it on different days in different amounts from different ATMs, but it came out to the same amount every week.

She’d been creating a cache. About twelve-thousand dollars worth. _Smart. _The most she could’ve crossed the border with without declaring it was ten grand, and that would be pushing it.

_She knew she was going to disappear; she was planning on disappearing. _The thought hit Bucky with such force he almost had to sit back in his seat. Okay, so she went to ground, meaning she didn’t want to be found. So what was the leading theory here?

She’d be somewhere densely populated, where she could blend in. Somewhere she knows the terrain and can quietly cultivate and navigate a cover. She probably has fake identification, and probably has changed her appearance somewhat, nothing too drastic, nothing that would draw too much attention, but enough to throw people off. Her hand was crushed, meaning surgery scars, identifiable marks so she’d be somewhere she could either cover-up or that they would be inconsequential.

He stopped himself, glancing around the darkened room at the faces looking up at the intel that Steve had gathered. The King, The General, the Doras, the War Dogs, all of them had cool, nearly placid expressions as they surveyed the information in front of them, what they were thinking Bucky couldn’t rightly say. The Princess, by comparison, was an open book. It wasn’t so much any one thing as a combination of everything. The young woman sat at the edge of her seat, her hands working a holographic keyboard, her eyes darting between her screen and the intel overhead. She was always multi-tasking, but the way her jaw was set, and the intensity of her expression, something else was going on here.

They knew. They knew about Ramirez and likely knew where she was.

Looking away from the Princess, he found that the King had his eyes on him. Was he watching him for a reaction? Was he trying to see what he and Steve knew before he played his hand? Bucky didn’t know. Looking away and then back up, he tried to think through what the King must be thinking. What did the sovereign of a nation think about shit like this? He thought strategically, and he probably was thinking two or three moved ahead. If he knew about Ramirez, then he also probably knew where she was. Now the next step would be determining what they would do with her. Leave her in place under Wakandan surveillance, pull her from her hiding spot, or eliminate the risk entirely. No option was without its faults, but some options created more issues than others.

“Thank you, Captain, I think that’s more than enough,” T’Challa said, motioning for the lights to come up.

The lights came up, the windows undimmed, and Steve looked slightly taken aback as the images disappeared from view.

“Tell me.” T’Challa began slowly. “Does the Llorona Network mean anything to you?”

Steve frowned, shaking his head. “I know the story of La Llorona. It’s a Mexican folk legend.” He paused, glancing around the table. “I don’t quite follow.”

T’Challa exchanged glances with select people in the room before turning back to the table and flicking open a data file from his Kimoyo bracelet. Ramirez’s face projected into the center of the room, an array of documents, maps, and videos appeared beside it. In several of the pictures and videos, she was wearing a platinum wig, but it was very clearly her.

_So she didn’t want to be found._

“We have been monitoring the situation since Berlin, and doing our best to keep other interested parties off her trail, including you and Mr. Wilson, particularly after she became embedded in the Llorona network.”

“Ramirez is involved in the Llorona Network? What is that?”

T’Challa motioned to one of the War Dogs, who stepped forward. She was a younger woman, probably in her early 30s, but moved with the assurance of someone trained to kill, and comfortable in her own skin. She looked as though she’d been called from leisure time, as she was wearing a bright green jumpsuit printed with the pattern of the River Tribe. Her eyes were bright and sharp as they surveyed the room, falling briefly on him and then on Steve. “This is Nakia, head of international intelligence and outreach. Tell Captain Rogers what you’ve found.” 

“La Llorona Network is an anti-trafficking network. Compromised of mostly older women, mothers, and grandmothers, they’ve been disrupting the cartel’s trafficking operations for almost five years now.” Nakia explained, moving around and manipulating different files. “Our operatives working within the network claim Ramirez has been actively involved for about two months. At first, we thought she was working cooperatively with vigilante agents outside the Network, but have now been able to ascertain that she is working as a solo operative within the Network.” Nakia paused. “There are are several operations ongoing throughout the Network at any given time, but we have received intel that indicates the network is going to make a large move against the cartels in the next 24-48 hours.”

Steve glanced between Nakia, The King, and The General. “Is there any way to extract her before then?”

T’Challa looked pointedly at Nakia, who shook her head. “It’s more complicated than that. We believe Ramirez has been positively identified by American agents as well, and they are planning on extracting her during The Network’s next action. If we extract her from the Network now, we risk not only her but everyone in the Network.”

Steve exhaled, nodding, “Okay, so what’s our move?”

“You won’t be doing anything, Captain.” T’Challa said shortly, Steve opened his mouth to protest, but T’Challa continued, “As you said, this is a threat to Wakandan security. We will do everything in our power to extract Ms. Ramirez during planned action. I will also grant Ms. Ramirez asylum within my countries borders until that time when her protection is no longer needed. No further action on your part is desired or needed.”

Steve grit his jaw, and Bucky was almost positive he was going to have to keep Steve from lunging over the table at the young monarch. Though Bucky knew that T’Challa was more than capable of holding his own against Steve, he really didn’t need another international incident on his hand.

“Understood," Steve said tersely.

“Good," T’Challa said, before leveling his gaze at Bucky. “Go back to the countryside, look after your goats, Mr. Barnes, we will update you as necessary," T’Challa rose to his feet.

That was a dismissal if ever Bucky had heard one, but they were _guests_ in this country. But he wasn’t done. And something possessed him to push his luck a little further. “Can we inform Wilson that his friend has been located?”

“You may.” T’Challa nodded, turning to go.

“Out of curiosity, where was she?” Bucky’s question stopped the monarch, who turned back to him.

“Why?” He asked, arching a graceful eyebrow.

“Ramirez is from west Texas, Midland-Odessa area, she’d go somewhere she was familiar, where she’d blend in, and that was densely populated. She wasn’t looking for rescue, but instead to disappear or go to ground.” T’Challa and his advisors remained blank-faced, but Bucky charged on. He had to know if he was right. “She’s in Ciudad Juarez.”

“That is a fascinating theory, Mr. Barnes," T’Challa replied, barely hiding a look of amusement. “Have a good rest of your afternoon.”

Bucky nodded, watching as the King and his entourage left the briefing room, Shuri being the last, cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder back at them. He could feel Steve coiled up beside him, whether it was anger or frustration or a good combination of both, Bucky didn’t know, but he did know that there was nothing further to be done.

“Come on, Steve," Bucky said gently. “The King said he’d keep us updated. I need to get back to my goats, and you need to call Wilson to let him know what’s going on.”

Steve nodded, wordlessly following him from the briefing room.

_So she’s in Juarez working against the cartels. _Bucky couldn’t help but shake his head. _Either she’s a bleeding heart case, or she’s just downright suicidal. _Either way, she was in tremendous danger, and Bucky hoped, if only for Steve and Wilson’s sake, that the Wakandans could pull her out of this mess in time.

_And then what? You heard T’challa. She’s going to be placed under Wakandan protection, meaning she’s stuck here. _It meant that sooner or later they’d have to face one another, sooner or later he’d have to reckon with what it was that Ramirez had been to his sister, and what therefore she meant to him.

Bucky shook his head again. They’d worry about that _after_ she’d been pulled out from under the cartel and the United States government’s noses and not a moment before. After all, a lot could happen in 24-48 hours. Anything could happen.


	2. Transport and Transfer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it Means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> TW: Gun Violence, Cartel Violence, Implied Death, Mentioned death, mentioned kidnapping, blood, gunshot wound mention, blood mention
> 
> Recommended Listening: Desperado Theme by Gipsy Kings, L’arena by Ennio Morricone, The Bandit With Missing Hand by Ennio Morricone, Alacran y Pistolero by Chingon, Watch Chimes (From “For a Few Dollars More”) by Ennio Morricone, Welcome to the Jungle by Guns and Roses
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=dTAdPcssRr-ldBFsxi3xfA

The streets were quiet or quieter than she’d expected them to be on the Day of the Dead. Then again, this was Juarez.

The streets were crumblings, and the street lights were scant. Those illuminated flickered, casting an eerie glow on the road around them.

Maggie exhaled slowly, running her hands over the steering wheel of the panel van she was sitting in. The vehicle was parked, and her eyes swiveled left to right, keeping vigilant for anything that wasn’t _supposed_ to be there.

She quietly recited the route. She’d driven it dozens of times now. She knew it like the back of her hand.

_The back of my hand, right._

Her attention turned momentarily turned to her left hand. She knew the route like the back of _this_ hand that was for damn sure. She surveyed it slowly in the dim light, the scars still ghastly and bright, the joints not entirely proportional. She’d developed a tremor in that hand since she’d come to Juarez. Being on the run wasn’t conducive to PT though Maggie was reasonably sure that factory work hadn’t helped _either._ But the Maquillas were always looking for fresh blood, and she’d needed a job and a cover.

Being a factory girl wasn’t glamorous work, it didn’t pay well, but it kept her busy, and it had kept her invisible. No one looks twice at a factory girl. No one asks them about their past or their homes or their families. Scars and mangled limbs were par for the course, and working through intolerable pain even more so.

Every one of them had a story, and every one of them was on their own, which was why it had been the perfect cover. No attachments, no relationships, no messy entanglements. That’s what Natasha had taught her, and that’s what needed to happen for her to stay out of any further trouble.

Thus far, she hadn’t done a good job of keeping a low profile. By the very nature of her complexion and accent, she was different. She was far lighter-skinned than most of the others and spoke Texas-Spanish rather than the Spanish particular to central Mexico where most of her co-workers had come from. But crossing the border had been the only way Maggie could think of that would make it more difficult to track her. And she was all about making things more difficult for anyone who might be pursuing her.

Then Maggie had moved into a two-bedroom apartment with six other girls. She'd been the oldest, of course, most of them no more than seventeen or eighteen, Away from their families, their village, their homes for the first time in their lives. They’d taken to calling her their Aunt, and each other cousins. Maggie didn’t mind so much, she could understand it. Most of them were homesick, all of them were frightened, and she didn’t blame them.

There were a great many reasons to be afraid. Afraid they’d lose their job over a minor infraction. Afraid of not having enough to eat, or not having enough to send home to their parents. Afraid of what lurked in the dark.

These girls weren’t stupid. They knew about the cartel activity, the kidnapping and killing of young women, young women just like them. They very well knew that it could be one of them next, while they walked home from the grocery store or the bus stop.

Maggie was afraid. She’d been afraid long before coming to Juarez, but in the dark, those fears amplified and compounded tenfold. She was afraid of being captured, afraid of being caught or worse, dragging one of these girls with her.

Maggie sighed, looking around the street again. Nothing had changed. She was still a bleeding heart case, despite everything, despite needing to remain detached, the girls had wormed their way into her heart, and she had welcomed them with open arms. They trusted her, and Maggie wanted to protect them. 

That was how she’d gotten wrapped up in all of this mess.

One of her roommates had gone missing, and then one of the girls on the line that had shown her the ropes the first day had disappeared, and then another who’d always shared her lunch with girls who hadn’t brought theirs hadn't shown up to work. Maggie had tried to keep her head down, tried not to get involved, not make waves, and stick out in the crowd. She tried to ignore the gaps filled by another faceless voiceless girl and the muffled sobs in the night.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t turn a blind eye, couldn’t watch as these girls went to slaughter at the hands of evil men. So she’d gone looking for trouble. Or rather, gone looking for any trace of where these girls had disappeared and who had seen them last. She’d asked questions, perfectly innocent ones too, until she’d found herself on a rooftop, watching an exchange take place. That was how she’d found them, or rather they’d found her—the Network.

They’d snatched her off the roof and interrogated her. They’d been watching her, and they were interested in why someone like her was interested in finding the girls. Then, rather than killing or maiming her, they offered her a job, or a job of sorts to prove she wasn’t a cartel informant. Mostly it was small things, carrying notes, or passing off packages and supplies to the Marias within the Network.

The Marias had the most difficult and dangerous jobs. They baited the cartels into kidnapping them so they could lead the Network to the locations where the cartels were holding the girls. From there, extraction and transport would be arranged.

Maggie had worked in the courier position for about a month before she’d been promoted to transport. She’d been so nervous that first night, but after a while, the nerves and adrenal had faded to a dull twinge. She’d seen too many deaths at the hands of the cartels to allow nerves to play a part. She knew what they were capable of, but then again, she also knew what she was capable of.

She glanced down at the floorboards of the van, her go-bag wedged just under the driver’s seat, her gun taped just out of view under the steering column, extra magazines tucked into her waistband. She was ready.

Tonight was supposed to be like any other pick up, but something else was going on, something big, something that was putting everyone on edge. It hadn't been outright said, but there was something massive about to take place, and everyone was bracing for the worst.

Maggie glanced at the side mirror. Her partner stood about a block away smoking a cigarette, and she waited with bated breath for the signal. 'Two blocks up, five minutes, four for pick up, the coast is clear.’

She turned on the stopwatch placing it in the cup holder attached to the dashboard and started the van checking that everything was good to go.

Her eyes scanned the street just outside. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, and the sky was a multitude of purple pinkish hues. It was gorgeous, a true triumph of nature. Her eyes turned from the sky to the earthly, human squalor below, the potholes in the road, the flickering street lights, the cinder block, and wrought iron fence line that hid unknown dangers beyond them. Anything could happen.

She offered up a silent prayer, touching the chain around her neck, and the two wedding bands strung around them. _Riley, if you’re up there, keep an eye on my six._ It was the same prayer she’d given every night that she’d done a runner. Most members of the Network left candles in churches or at the many shrines they’d constructed around the city. Some wore pendants with various saints. Maggie spoke to Riley, and to her mother, and brother, and grandfather, and all those who had gone before her to either protect her in her mission or guide her home if she was through. It was a small comfort, but it was the only comfort that she could afford in such a place and time.

The stopwatch beeped, and Maggie silenced it, before shifting the van into drive. The radio was on, but she could hardly hear it over the thundering of her heartbeat.

As she pulled up to a stop sign, there was a series of quick knocks on the side of the door, and Maggie unlocked the van before the door slid opened and then quickly shut again.

Maggie continued driving without saying a word, but she could hear them, hear their ragged breaths caught in their throats, their muffled, silent tears, that escaped through cupped hands and clenched jaws. She kept her eyes front, fingers tapping the steering wheel along to the radio. They drove a good two minutes in total silence before she could hear the breathing behind her start to even out, and the palpable tension start to dissipate.

She made the planned turn left and then right several blocks down, keeping her eyes moving between the road and the side mirrors.

Then she spotted it. 

A single beat-up pickup truck, nondescript, barely noticeable if she hadn’t been looking for it. It was a small vehicle, but three men were sitting in the cab, and another two in the back. It wouldn’t have meant anything, but they’d been trailing her for two blocks.

_Fuck._

She turned on her left blinker, and the truck behind her did the same. Turning right at the last minute, the truck followed.

Maggie wished it was a coincidence, she wished that she could even think that it might be a coincidence, but it wasn’t.

Maggie turned right when she should’ve turned left, and there was a sharp inhale of breath from behind her. The Maria knew they’d been made.

There came the rushed whispers, and a shuffling as the girls plastered themselves on the floor of the van. Then there was silence, with only the sound of the radio, and the road, and the loud thudding of Maggie’s heart filling the space.

She knew the procedure. Shake the tail and head toward a secondary transport location. If it came to a fight, be prepared to fight. But above all else, do not compromise the Network.

Twisting and turning and winding through the streets, Maggie drove calmly and purposefully, doing her best not to show any indication of panic or fear.

She was two blocks away from the secondary transport location when a car, sleek, and black, and definitely not from _this _part of Juarez pulled out in front of her.

“Fuck.” She swore under her breath. “I’m going to need you all to hold on.” She said quietly. _I'm going to get you out of this_. Maggie would’ve said had she been a hero, had she been Natasha, or Steve, or Sam, had she been a soldier, a spy, a hero, had she been anything but a small frightened woman in over her head.

The car slammed on its breaks, and Maggie put the van into reverse and floored the gas. Speeding backward, she maneuvered around the truck and down the street. When she reached an intersection, she put the van back into drive, turned, and sped away, tires screeching behind them.

Then came the sound of gunfire. First, in single thick sounding rounds, and then in a quick burst.

_They’re going to shoot out your tires._

She knew she didn’t have much time. She’d bought them a little bit of time with her maneuver, but it wasn’t going to be enough to shake them completely.

Maggie flinched at the sound of bullets ripping through the side of the van, metal on metal with a smell like fireworks.

She returned her focus to the road, mapping our the streets of Juarez in her head. They were going to have to abandon the van sooner rather than later, fan-out, and meet at the rendezvous point on foot. “Can you get them to the secondary drop?” Maggie stammered her Spanish sloppy and nearly incoherent.

“Yes.” The Maria responded, her voice still smooth and even. “We’re going to need cover.”

“Leave that to me.” There it was, the bravado, the confidence, the assurance. Maggie wasn’t sure where it had come from, but she knew that she needed to be that right now, for those girls, for the Maria, for the Network, for herself.

There was a gentle squeeze on her elbow. “God go with you.” The Maria murmured gently.

Maggie nodded, swallowing hard. “Be ready to go in in 3...2..1...” She veered off the road and slammed on the breaks.

The van shuddered to a stop at an alleyway, blocking it off to anyone going in or out. Before the van could stop completely, the Maria was issuing instructions in rapid-fire Spanish, and she and the girls were out and into the alley before Maggie could open the driver’s side door out into the alleyway.

Grabbing her gun, and putting on her go-bag, she turned her back to the alley and faced the street. Out in the street, the perusing vehicles had screeched to a halt, and its inhabitants were now climbing from their vehicles to open fire upon them.

_Fuck. _

She was aware that she was telling the girls to run, but as soon as the gunfire resumed, everything else melted away. She’d been here before, not like this, not in this way, but Natasha had been right. _Be prepared to kill, because whoever is trying to kill you will likely have more training and won’t hesitate. _

Maggie wasn’t sure about the better-trained bit of that, how many cartel thugs had been trained by a former Hydra/KGB super spy and avenger? But they did want to kill her.

She half ran, half sidled, ducking and dodging behind dumpsters, electrical boxes, and other street garbage, as she tried to give the girls and the Maria cover and suppressing fire as they ran along the alley ahead of her.

There was a scream, and she turned to see the Maria hunched against the wall, her hand clutching her stomach. The girls froze, glancing between her and the bleeding Maria. “You have to go now. Run!” She told them as she rushed to help the wounded woman. “I’ll take care of her.” Maggie turned and slung the woman’s right arm over her shoulder, wrapping her left arm around her waist. "You with me?” Maggie asked breathlessly.

“You should go, go without me.” She managed weakly as they staggered up the alleyway toward the next dumpster they could get shelter behind.

Maggie didn’t have time to reply as another spray of bullets hailed around them, kicking up rocks at their feet. Maggie winced as several of the large rocks hit her in the leg and back.

“Come on. Come on. We’re okay.” Her voice was strained and squeaky as she eased the Marie down on the ground behind the dumpster. Before reaching for another magazine to re-load her gun. She came up empty.

Looking down, she realized her hands were shaking and that she and her clothes were covered in blood. Staggering to her knees, she reached over to check the Maria’s pulse but stopped to steady herself against the dumpster, her vision blurry, a high pitched ringing in her ears that drowned out the sound of gunfire.

Looking down again, she saw that the blood wasn’t from the other woman; it was hers. She’d been shot, twice, once through her thigh, and once through her side.

Frantic and with shaking hands, she ripped off her backpack and yanked some paracord from the front pocket, wrapping the cord around her leg, just above the entry wound. She turned to the other woman. She wasn’t breathing.

“Maria," Maggie called frantically in a hoarse whisper, tears started to stream down her grime and blood-streaked face.

The shouting and the gunfire were getting closer. Only, Maggie realized after a moment, it wasn’t directed at them.

“Maria.” She repeated. It wasn’t her name. It wasn’t her real name. Maggie didn’t know her real name, didn’t know if she had a family if she had lost someone if anyone knew who she was, or if there would be anyone to tell that she was missing or dead.

Maggie paused as the street fell silent, but with the silence came the feeling of leaden terror. Fear overwhelmed her senses, as she frantically pulled the utility knife from her backpack before pulling it back on. Dragging herself to her feet, she held her breath, ready to defend herself, against whatever was to come.

Rounding the dumpster, she saw something, more shadow than actual shape. Maggie lunged as best as she could, but the thing in black grabbed and shook the knife from her hand. Grabbing her wrist, it hauled her bodily over their shoulder.

She tried to scream, but like a nightmare, no sound came out as the world slipped away and into inky blackness.

-

Maggie was awake but kept her eyes shut as she tried to take in as much as of her surroundings as possible without alerting her captors? Rescuers? She wasn’t entirely sure. She was warm, there was a soft, albeit heavy, blanket on top of her. She wasn’t in any sort of pain, she wasn’t tied down, and the voices that she could hear were low, but tinged with concern rather than menace. If she was being held hostage by the cartels or the US government, they were certainly very considerate.

Then one voice cut through the din, “How is she? Is she stable? Can I see her?”

Eyes shooting open, Maggie sat bolt upright, throwing off the blanket, scrambled from the examination table, and charged blindly in the direction of the voice. “Steve?” She croaked, her mouth and throat dry.

Maggie tripped but was grabbed by two very strong hands before she could hit the ground.

“Steve?” Her voice was shaking as she looked up into the concerned face of none other than Steve Rogers.

“I got you, Maggie, I got you.” He said soothingly, as he helped her right herself.

Looking up at him, a thousand feelings, thoughts, and emotions crossed her mind. “You have a beard.” She managed finally, with a half-laugh as tears started to well in her eyes, cupping his face in her hands.

“Yeah.”

Without anything else to say, Maggie pulled him into a hug, practically collapsing into his arms. She was safe, or she was dead, either way, she was with Steve, so she knew that Sam was nearby.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe. Everything is all right.” Steve murmured, as he held her tightly in his arms.

Maggie pulled back. It wasn’t all right. She’d been shot, the Maria, the girls what had happened to them? She looked around, taking in everything around her. She was in some kind of laboratory, but she could only use the word loosely. It was a round room, made of rock, and windows. There were holographic screens and work stations that illuminated and blinked in various colors. Outside the windows, there was a massive mining operation taking place. They were underground, and the gigantic cavern below them stretched on forever.

_Where the fuck am I?_

She glanced up at Steve. “What happened? Where am I? What’s going on? Where’s Sam? What happened to the girls and the other woman?” She stammered, reaching down she lifted the shirt she was wearing to find there was no bullet wound, no scar, just even smooth brown skin. “I was shot.” She stammered, looking back up at Steve. “I was shot. I was shot twi-” She stopped as she looked past Steve, a dark suit catching her eye.

“That! I've seen that!” She rushed past him and toward it. “Only not this one.”

Maggie turned back around to Steve and saw two people standing several yards behind him. A black man and woman. Siblings if Maggie was going to guess, based on similar features. The woman was the younger of the two, probably younger than Maggie, if she could even be called a woman, and not a girl. Her features while currently grave were young and youthful, with a bit of youthful fullness to them, like some of the girls she’d worked with in Juarez, putting her at no more than sixteen or seventeen, eighteen at the very most. She was wearing a bright neon pink and green dress with asymmetrical color stripes and patterns of other neons in blue and orange and yellow. Over the dress, she wore a mesh smock and white shoes approximating sneakers. Her hair was braided in thin rows and piled on top of her head into two messy buns with beads and bright threads both woven into her hair, and holding the buns in place, and adding pops of color and ornamentation to the young woman’s hair.

The man, by contrast, was far more understated wearing a black tunic, cut and fitted like a long jacket, emblazoned with white and silver embroidery around the neck and yoke of the jacket, with loose-fitting black pants, and what appeared to be leather boots. His expression was grave like his sister’s, but it wasn’t as concerned as his sister’s, it was evaluating her, sizing her up.

_Like I’m his prey. _Maggie realized. Yet, despite this, she knew she’d seen him before, somewhere, not at all registering in her addled brain at the moment, and that while she should be frightened, she wasn’t frightened of him. She was alive, likely because of him, and she hadn’t been shot, restrained, or otherwise harmed in any way since she’d jumped off the table she’d been on.

“Where am I?” She asked shortly, looking past Steve to the man.

“You are In Wakanda.”

All of the synapses in her brain fired at once, and like a pot of coffee and a kick in the teeth, she realized who she was addressing. “Making you T’Challa, King of Wakanda.”

The man nodded graciously. “I am. This is my sister Princess Shuri.” The King said, taking several steps toward her. “How are you feeling, Ms. Ramirez?”

“In all due respect, your highness, confused," Maggie answered shortly, glancing between Steve and the monarch, waiting for Steve to pipe up with some kind of explanation. Instead, Steve looked tense as he eyed her warily, almost expectantly, as if he was waiting for her to lunge or make a move that might threaten the King or his sister, which didn’t make any sense. The bombings at the UN, the ones that had killed King T’Chaka, had been initially pinned on James Barnes. It had been a huge international stink, and one of the many reasons she’d gone into hiding. Sure, later, it had come out that it had been some guy named Zemo, but it still didn’t make sense that Steve would be here.

“I imagine that you are.”

“So, how does this work? I ask questions, and you answer them, or am I supposed to wait for you to deliver a monologue?”

Something approximating an amused expression crossed the King’s face, but it did nothing to relieve the palpable tension in the room. “I would be interested to hear what you know, Ms. Ramirez, before I bore you with a monologue.”

Maggie glanced over at Steve, doing her best to convey _'what the fuck is going on?’ _In a single glance, before returning her full attention to King T’Challa. “Well, I take it, you’re the people who pulled me out of Juarez. With that thing.” She motioned to the suit on the mannequin a few feet away, which, now upon further inspection, looked like a catsuit.

Maggie paused, taking a moment to look around the room before she put her left hand down where the bullet wound should have been, rubbing it gingerly. Steve was here, meaning that Steve was allies or associates with King T’Challa, even though Steve Rogers, James Barnes, and Sam Wilson were international fugitives under the Sokovia Accords. They were friendlies, or close to it because otherwise, it would have been politically expedient to let her die in the streets of Juarez. But they hadn’t. Therefore the information that she had was valuable, dangerous, or both to the Wakandans.

Taking a deep breath, she locked eyes with the King, “And if I’m going to guess, I’d say that I’m here because of James Barnes, aren’t I?”

There was a beat of silence. Steve shifted his weight, glancing back and forth between her and T’Challa. She was right. Maggie knew she was right. Steve’s poker face was for shit. She’d said that man’s name, and his expression had changed. Not that it became softer, by any stretch of the imagination, but there had been a slight twitch if it could be called that. Whether it was satisfaction or displeasure, Maggie likewise couldn’t say for sure.

“What makes you think that, Ms. Ramirez?” T’Challa inquired, his expression and tone giving away nothing.

“Because he’s here.” Maggie pointed at Steve, “And I’m here, and you wanted me alive for some reason.” She felt that her logic was sound. The connection between her and Steve was Barnes. That’s what had gotten her into this mess in the first place, and seemed to be a reoccurring theme in her life. It was why she had left the country. It was why she had hauled around her journals the entire time. Maggie paused, her heart stopped momentarily, and her eyes went wide. “My bag.” She gasped.

“It is here, and all of the contents are accounted for.” The King answered calmly, motioning behind her.

Maggie turned and saw that her bag was indeed sitting untouched on a workbench. Stained with blood, dirt, and lord knew what else, but it was there, intact. Walking over to it, Maggie, picked it up and unzipped it. All of the contents were there, undisturbed, and in the place she had left them. Looking up, she met the gaze of the King and Princess. “Thank you.” She said graciously.

“Of course.” T’Challa nodded. “We have a room prepared for your use in the palace for the duration of your stay. You may retire there now if you wish, but my advisors may have some questions for you about the Network and will wish to speak with you in some length. I’m sure you and Captain Rogers have a lot to talk about. A lot has happened since your disappearance in June. He will want to brief you on what you've missed since then.”

Maggie nodded as her brain tried to process what she was hearing. “So, James Barnes _is_ the reason I’m here.” She said as conclusively as she could manage. She needed an answer, a straight answer, and if she had to keep asking repetitive and even asinine questions to get an answer, she'd keep trudging along.

“Yes," T’Challa answered simply.

_Finally. A straight answer._

“And how long am I here for?” Maggie asked, pushing her luck further. The phrase, 'for the duration of your stay’ had a convenient sort of _vagueness_ to it that Maggie really wanted to clarify before things went any further.

“For the foreseeable future. Or until the information you possess becomes irrelevant.”

_For the foreseeable future?_

The phrase echoed in her head a thousand times. They were holding her here. She was being held here. This was witness protection 2.0. This was being locked in the tower with a security detail that followed her everywhere. This is what she had just spent the last two and a half years trying to find a way out of, to now find herself in the exact same situation. Only this time, she was being held by a nation’s sovereign. It was kidnapping. It was abduction.

_They did just save you from the cartels. _

But that didn’t matter. She probably would’ve died had they not intervened, and that would’ve been okay too. Better than being stuck, better than being _held_ in any location she didn’t choose to be. “So, I’m being detained here.” It came out sharper than she’d meant it to, but it needed to be said.

“It is in our interest to keep you away from parties who might use you as leverage.” The King of Wakanda replied smoothly. “But if you wish to leave, we will not stop you.”

_Where would I go? _She would’ve asked, had it not been entirely laughable. Where could she go? Join Sam and Steve on the run? She’d been on the run for three months and had gotten shot twice. That wasn’t sustainable or doable in her case. She wasn’t a super. She wasn’t a soldier. She didn’t have powers or a wingsuit. What was she going to do? She couldn’t leave and go back into hiding, not unless she wanted to spend the rest of what would be a very short life in a government holding cell. Trapped. She was trapped. “Is James Barnes in the country?”

“Does that make a difference?”

_Yes, it did. _

Maggie couldn’t help but think about the journals, and the photographs, and everything that she had carried with her through her time in Juarez. _Yes._ She needed to finish this, needed to come face to face with James Barnes, and hand over everything she had learned about him, everything that she knew, everything that Becca had told her. If for no other reason than to wash her hands of him and get closure after two and half years of spending almost every waking minute thinking about him, and trying to track down where he was. She could live her life, even confined, once she’d done that. “Yes.” She said simply.

“He is.”

Maggie nodded, swallowing hard. She didn’t need to know the exact circumstances of his arrival in the country, or why he was still here, that was something that hopefully Steve could fill her in on once they’d left the presence of the royal family. She just needed some basic facts. “Has James Barnes been briefed as to my situation?”

“He has, yes.” T’Challa nodded.

Maggie said nothing. So he knew she was in the country. What exactly he knew about her, and her relationship to Becca, Steve, Nat, and Sam was a different story, and could be solved at a later date. The facts remained she was going to be in Wakanda for the foreseeable future, and James Barnes knew about it. “Will I be permitted to leave the palace?” She inquired.

“As I said before, you are not being detained here. Ms. Ramirez.”

“But I’m not being given anything to do, in the palace. So can I leave it?” She replied.

The siblings exchanged glances before looking at Steve and then her. “I don’t believe I follow," T’Challa said shortly.

Maggie sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. “I don’t wanna be stuck inside.” She said weakly. “While I appreciate a room in the palace for my personal use, I’d prefer something rural where I can be around animals and nature. I’ve always worked with my hands, and if I’m going to be here for the foreseeable future, I would like to be able to put my time toward something _productive._ And I don’t see that being as much of an option if I’m cooped up in the palace.”

T’Challa nodded firmly. “I see.” He frowned thoughtfully, looking out toward the windows, where the mining was taking place a moment before he turned back to her. “I will see what can be done to secure you a place to live and work out in the countryside. As I am given to understand it, you worked with horses on your ranch back in the United States. Correct?”

“Yes.” Maggie nodded.

“Then I will speak with the appropriate people to find you a position out in the grasslands.”

“Thank you, your highness.” She said, as graciously as she could manage. She should be thankful. He didn’t have to do any of this. He didn’t have to let her in his country or give her a place to live and work. He could’ve let her die in Juarez. It, all things being equal, could be worse.

“Of course.”

“I do have a few more questions.” Maggie continued.

“I am sure you do, Ms. Ramirez, but first, you should rest. Then, when the time is appropriate, you may ask all the questions you want. Though, if you get an answer is a different matter entirely.”

_Of course. Naturally. _She surveyed the two Wakandans and then glanced at Steve. She wasn’t going to get much farther than she already had, at least not today. “Can I know who saved my life? And who patched me up? I’d like to say thank you.” She managed wearily.

“I will pass along your thanks to the appropriate parties," T’Challa said shortly. “But for now, I think you should get some rest. You will be staying in the same apartment Captain Rogers used. He can show you the way, or I can have on my guards escort you, whatever you prefer.”

Maggie wasn’t sure if that was a threat or an offer, but glancing at Steve found that he was watching her intently. She couldn’t tell what the King meant by it, but having Steve by her side was far preferable than any sort of King’s guard, regardless of intention. “I think Steve will be more than enough. I don’t want to be any more trouble.” She said.

“Of course. It was good to meet you, Ms. Ramirez, I only wish it had been under better circumstances.” T’Challa said.

_Yeah, Me too. _“Thank you again for your generosity, your highness. I hope in time I may come to repay it.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “Captain, Ms. Ramirez, good day.” He said before turning to leave.

Wordlessly Steve picked up her backpack and took her by the elbow, leading her silently through the research compound, out into the bright sunlight. Crossing a long bridge, they entered a lift that transported them to a series of apartments. Eventually, Steve stopped outside one of the many identical-looking doors and removing a key card swiped in front of the sensor. Holding the door open for her, Maggie stepped inside and waited for Steve to follow. Only when the door had closed securely behind him, did she turn to look at him directly.

“Steve, I ask this with all due respect, what the _fuck?_” Her voice was shaking. Her whole body was shaking. She may have been out of the world for three months, but absolutely nothing that had happened in the last twenty minutes had made any sense whatsoever. She wanted to scream, wanted to shout, wanted to punch and hit and bite and scratch and do anything and everything she could to get out of the situation she was in, but one look at Steve’s face, Maggie realized that it wouldn’t do one ounce of good.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He said slowly after a long silence. “Let me make you some lunch while you shower, and then I’ll explain everything. If I can, I’ll try to get into contact with Sam too. He’ll be happy to hear from you.”

At the mention of Sam, her whole body softened, the tension easing slightly from her shoulders and back. Maggie nodded. “Okay. _Fine_.” She couldn’t argue with food, shower, or answers from either Steve or Sam.

So without further protest or inquiry, she ventured into the bathroom to turn on the water.

She took a nice long shower in the apartment’s bathroom, while Steve made grilled cheese and tomato soup. Then only after they’d eaten did Steve tell her everything or everything that he could. The bombing, the chase through Romania, the triggering in Berlin, the fight at the Leipzig airport, he and Barnes’s escape to Siberia, Sam’s capture, his and Barnes’s fight with Tony, T’Challa’s offer of help, Steve’s rescue of Sam and the others, Barnes’s stint on ice, and of course what they’d been up to in the meantime. Concluding with the briefing with the Wakandans, Steve called Sam, and she and Sam talked for a good hour and a half before Sam was called away, and they had to say goodbye.

Handing the phone back to Steve, Maggie realized she hadn’t retained much of what she’d just heard. The basics, at the very least, but her whole body felt numb, and the world around her was dull and fuzzy.

“I’ll let you get some rest. I should probably head back out to the village.”

“Village?” Maggie echoed, rising to help Steve clear away the dishes.

“Bucky is staying out there. For the time being.”

“So, he really is here.” She said blandly as if she hadn’t just spent the last few hours hearing that exact thing.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “You okay?” He asked.

Maggie sighed, shaking her head. She looked around the room. It looked clinical, like a hotel room, as if it had been made just for their particular American sensibilities. It was nicer than anywhere she’d stayed at in over three months. Still, there was a particularly sterile feeling to the entire place, even perhaps more so than the Wakandan laboratory. But it lacked personality or any sense of personal touches. If she was honest, it reminded her of the flat back in Avengers tower, or the rooms she’d occupied in the Avenger's Compound. “I don’t know.” She admitted after a moment. “I think I just need to get some rest and get my feet up under me. Once I get my bearings, I’ll feel better, I think.” She smiled weakly, more to reassure Steve than as an indication of how she was feeling.

“I’m sure of it, and if you need anything, I’m a call away.” He removed a string of beads from around his wrist and set them on the side table. “They’re Kimoyo beads, Shuri asked me to give them to you. You can make a call if you tap this one.” He motioned to a particular one. “And say my name," Steve explained quickly.

She nodded. “Okay, sounds good.”

“Get some sleep if you can.” He said, moving toward the door, paused, before returning to where she stood and gave her a big hug. “It’s good to know you’re safe.”

“Yeah.” She said, returning the embrace. “Safe.” She concluded distantly.

He pulled away and surveyed her carefully, concern on his features. “And really. Call if you need me.”

“Will do Steve.” She paused, glancing at her backpack on the bed and then up at Steve. “Tell Barnes I need to talk to him. At his earliest convenience.”

Steve looked at her uncertainly. “I can do that. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Maggie nodded wearily. “I just need to tie up some loose ends.”

“I understand," Steve said. “When you’re ready, I can make an introduction.” He gave her another quick hug. “Until then, get some rest.”

“Thanks.” She waved as he left the room, the door locking behind him.

Maggie sighed, exhaustion clouding her thoughts and making every movement a labor. She turned to the bed and winced. As enticing as it was, even she knew that sleeping in a bed was out of the question. After sleeping on basically the ground for close to three months, there was no way she’d be able to sleep on a mattress.

Dragging the blankets from the bed, she positioned the pillows on the rug near the large sliding glass door and wrapped herself amongst the bed linens before lying down on the floor. She’d started her day in Juarez, preparing to pull four girls from the cartels. What had happened to them, she didn’t know. Had they made it safe? Had the Maria pulled through? She didn’t like to think too hard about it. Now she was sitting here, somewhere _safe_ while there were still people out there who weren’t.

_I should be dead._

The thought drifted through the thick fog that clouded her murky mind.

_But you aren’t._

So what was she going to do? How could she possibly deal with the fact that once again, she was starting over? Once again, James Barnes had put her in a situation that she didn’t have a way out of. How was she going to come face to face with the man who had ruined her life now just about three times?

_When you’re ready, I’ll make an introduction._

That’s what Steve had said. Would she ever be ready? Could she ever be ready? She didn’t know. But as Maggie faded in and out of slumber, one thing was certain. She needed to hand over the journals, and wash her hands of the entire mess. The quicker she did that, the faster she could move on, and the faster she could figure out what the hell she was going to do with her time, now that she was stuck in Wakanda for the foreseeable future, with the man who was responsible for at least two out of the six worst moments of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! Ahhh. They're in the same place! Next chapter we get their first interaction. It is...something else, is all I'll say. Also as you can see from the playlist today, my brain was in a very specific place, and I hope that it came through at least someone in the writing of this chapter. Thanks for reading, feel free to drop a line, comments, kudos, and subscriptions are always appreciated! Happy reading!


	3. Don't Shoot the Messenger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it Means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: We Three (My Echo, My Shadow, and Me) by The Ink Spots; I've Got You Under My Skin by Frank Sinatra; Circle by Slipknot
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=GRiBsPvATuu7hCXAsxw40g

Magdalen Ramirez had been in Wakanda for three days. Steve had been gone for about 24 hours.

“_Maggie wants to talk to you.”_ Steve had announced when he’d returned from the capital after she’d been pulled from Juarez.

Steve hadn’t supplied further information, as if waiting for some kind of response before he continued. _“Did she say why?” _He’d asked after a moment.

_“Wanted to tie up loose ends.”_

Well, that could mean anything.

“_I’ll take care of it.”_ Steve had replied when he hadn’t said anything further.

Take care of it? Take care of what? This wasn’t a fight your way out of it type situation. Although exactly what type of this situation was remained to be seen.

She’d taken the news well, according to Steve. Though, what _"well_" meant in this context, Bucky didn’t know.

Whatever _"well" _meant, she hadn’t been happy about the prospect. Though Bucky couldn’t imagine anyone being happy told that they were being confined because they were a security threat. How Steve had expected her to take everything, he didn’t know. The guy still didn’t think things all the way through. Leap first, make sure you have a goddamn parachute while you’re plummeting toward the ground.

"_I’ll take care of it_," Steve had repeated when he’d been packing to head back out to rendezvous with Wilson.

_“You really don’t have to Steve. I’m more than capable of handling it.” _He’d assured Steve.

After all, Steve had said she only wanted to talk.

_Yeah, the woman who’s life you ruined just wants to talk._

So what were his options? He could avoid her until they absolutely couldn’t anymore. Or he could try to set up a meeting to where they could talk.

Thus far, his only solution had been to put it off, which felt an awful lot more like option one than he cared to admit.

_Are you frightened of her?_

Physically? No. But this was someone who was stuck here indefinitely and had also enjoyed unlimited and likely unrestricted access to information about his past, including being directly involved with not one, but three key people from his past. There was a lot she likely knew, and Bucky wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

What he did know is if he didn’t resolve this soon, it wasn’t going to end well for anyone involved.

“Breathe, Mr. Barnes.” Princess Shuri’s voice pulled him back.

He was lying on her examination table. Just above his head, he could hear The Princess working, the bangles around her wrists jingling together as she moved her hands, manipulating the real-time holographic projection of his brain.

“Sorry, Princess.” He said, taking an exaggerated breath in part to make a show of willing, but also because he _had_ been holding his breath.

“You were very deep in thought,” She commented as she continued working. “How are you feeling? What are you sensing?”

Bucky paused, running his tongue over his teeth. “You’re making me taste mint, aren’t you?” He asked after a moment.

“It was either that or pine smell," The Princess replied. “But that means your primary olfactory cortex is working like it’s supposed to.”

“How does it look?” He asked uncertainly. He’d done this several times now since he’d come out of cryo. But every time he was always worried that something new would present itself and send them back to square one. Thus far, no such calamity had occurred, but there was always a first time for everything.

“Your brain? It looks excellent, very wrinkly and grey and fatty,” She answered. “Would you like to see?”

“I trust your judgment.” He paused.

“What?” She asked, putting her hands on her hips, extended her head into his field of vision so that he could just see your eyes. “I know you have something to say.”

He paused, licking his lips. “Just a hunch. But you knew about Ramirez from my memories.”

“Yes?”

“So, you saw my time at the ranch?”

“Not as such. I do know, however, that those memories are coded positively in your base memory. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. They were positively coded. Did that mean that she could see what he was feeling in the display overhead? If he looked up, would he be able to see his own array of emotions?

“What’s going on?” She asked, in the universal tone of younger siblings up to no good.

Bucky sighed. There were no secrets from The Princess, even if he wanted there to be. It would be better to get it done and over with than to drag this thing out any more than he already had. “Steve mentioned before he left that Ramirez wanted to speak with me. I don’t know how to get ahold of her. Is there any way you could...you know...”

“Broker an introduction? Facilitate a rendezvous?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Set up a meeting so we can speak,” He said shortly.

“Facilitate a rendezvous sounds so much more _exciting._”

“I thought you warned me to stay away from too much excitement.” He replied.

“Stimuli, yes, excitement no. You could use a bit of excitement in your life.”

“I don’t think Ramirez is going to bring the kind of _excitement_ into my life that you’re thinking of, Princess.”

Excitement was really the last thing either of them needed presently. He’d had enough excitement to last a lifetime, more than two lifetimes if he was honest. As for Ramirez, there was no telling what she had endured in Juarez, never mind during the two years she’d worked to hunt him down.

His mind and memory returned to the photograph, the photograph in the obituary. Ramirez had known his sister well enough to be included in a family picture. _They were friends. Your sister loved her. Maggie took Becca’s death hard._

After the last two and a half years they’d both had, they didn’t need excitement, they needed closure, and he needed answers.

What had Ramirez told Becca? What had Becca told her? Beyond just that, she’d also been heavily involved in tracking him down. What had she learned? How much did she know? Did she know about his time training the Black Widows in the red room? His relationship with Romanoff? Did she know about everything that he’d done and had been done to him?

Furthermore, what did knowing all of that do to a person like Ramirez? Do to someone who set out to fix the world? What would she think of him if she knew all that?

“How is your memory and remembering coming along?” She inquired, oh so very non-conspicuously changing the subject.

“Fine.” He answered shortly. There were still gaps, large ones. Princess Shuri had warned him that there might be some parts of his memory that he would never get back, but as far as he was concerned, it was a small price to pay in exchange for his freedom from Hydra.

“So, do really want me to set up a meeting for you?” She ventured slowly.

Bucky sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. Did he want to? No. Not really. But did he need to? Yes. He absolutely owed her the courtesy of a face to face meeting, where she could do whatever she needed to do and say what she needed to say to tie up loose ends, as Steve had said. Would that give him the answers he was looking for? Would he be able to ask that of her when the time came? He didn’t know. But unfortunately, he also knew nothing would happen if he didn’t ask The Princess to reach out to her and make a plan to meet.

“Yeah. Ask her when she’s available.”

“She’s staying in the village with Jelani and Teela. She should have pretty open availability.”

“The horse breeders? Omondi’s friend?”

“Omondi is friends with everyone, but yes, the Jelani that breeds horses.”

So their paths were going to cross. More frequently than previously anticipated. This, unfortunately, made their meeting all the more imperative. The longer he waited, the more awkward it was going to be when he showed up on feed delivery day.

“Just let me know what she says.”

“Of course.” The Princess paused, with a thoughtful, almost mischievous air.

“What? Princess?” Bucky cracked one eye open and raised an eyebrow.

“You should not be so nervous about speaking with her.”

“It’s been a long time, and I did leave her for dead,” Bucky said flatly, doing his best not to sound totally dramatic.

“A lot has happened since then.”

This was fundamentally true, although Bucky would argue that nothing _good_ had happened to her since then and that most of her misfortune had been in some way or another explicitly linked to him. However, that ultimately wasn’t up to him to decide. Whatever Ramirez thought of him or wanted of him was neither here nor there. The only thing he could do right now was arrange to meet her at her earliest convenience so that whatever needed to be said or done between them could be resolved quickly.

“All right! You’re all done. Same date and time next month?” She announced happily.

“Sounds like a plan.” He groaned, wincing as he sat up on the examination table.

“Unless something changes.”

“Unless something changes.” He agreed, adjusting his scarf before combing his fingers through his hair, swinging his legs over the edge of the table.

“Good. Have a good day, Bucky, and try not to worry too much. Magdalene Ramirez does not wish you any harm.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, thank you, Princess, for everything.”

“Of course, white boy. Now get back to your goats, I will let you know what she says when I get word from her about when she can meet.” She said before shooing him out of the lab.

_Try not to worry too much._

How did she know? Well, she had seen the inside of his head. She knew his mind probably better than he did. But he was concerned, worried, anxious. Was he cueing off of Steve’s anxiety about the whole thing? Or was there some deeper reason that he was anxious to come face to face with Magdalene Ramirez? He wasn’t sure.

What could he honestly expect from her? What did he want to say to her when they finally were face to face after two years? For a majority of that time, he’d thought she was dead. He had mourned for her, done research on her, and knew a lot more about her than he really felt comfortable admitting. How could he possibly enunciate all of that? Could he, in fact, say any of that? Would she want to hear any of it? Should he even bring it up? The possibilities raced through his already aching head until he felt like his whole world was spinning.

Relief, however, came Before he could make it back to the village, The Princess messaged him, letting him know that Ramirez had agreed to meet with him at 10:00 am, at her place, just outside the horse village.

He responded that he would be there. Then it was done. He had a meeting set, and there was nothing more to do than sit and wait, leaving him alone with his thoughts and his goats for the rest of the long afternoon into the evening.

_What could she possibly mean by tie up loose ends?_ He couldn’t help but wonder, and would this interaction bring them closure? Or would it only invite more questions, complications, and difficulty?

The following morning he arrived on the outskirts of the village ten minutes early and found Ramirez outside one of the dwellings on a low stool, with a cup of coffee in hand and a journal open on her lap. She looked as if this was the most normal thing in the world. Like she had always been living in this remote and highly secretive African nation. As if she had always been apart of this village. Her hair was up, braided, and wrapped around her head. She was wearing a plain light-colored button-down shirt, and dark trousers tucked into boots. They weren’t the western style boots she’d worn On Last Chance, but the effect was the still the same. She looked like she’d walked directly from one of his memories. Yet, there was something sharper, more severe about her features, a weathered, aged expression on her face as she read the contents of the journal on her lap.

“You’re early Mr. Barnes, would you like some coffee? I made a whole pot.” She commented without looking up.

“No, thank you, Ms. Ramirez.” He replied.

At this, she looked up, surveying him with those dark eyes that had haunted his dreams and floated in his memories. She took stock of him, what she was learning, he could only guess, but satisfied with her findings, she nodded, closed the journal and rose, turning to face him. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well.” She cut herself off, “Better than the last time I saw you anyway.” She amended. “Been a bit of a wild ride since then for me. I can only imagine you’ve gone through some shit since we last saw one another.” Her gaze drifted, only momentarily to his left shoulder, where the prosthesis should have been.

Pausing, she drew in a deep breath. “I don’t know what Steve told you or what you’ve worked out on your own, but I worked with him, Samuel Wilson, and Natasha Romanoff to track you down after I left the ranch.” She paused, her fingers fiddling with the pages of the journal she was holding. “I also had the incredible experience of getting to know and becoming friends with your sister before she passed away.” She reached behind her, and collected a further two journals, holding the stack of three of them in both hands. “I kept very detailed records. They’re in a code Natasha taught me, but I think you’ll be able to decipher and understand, but I included a cheat sheet just in case. I thought it was only fair that you should have them. That way, you know what I know. Know what I found out while I was helping them track you down.” She took several steps toward him to close the gap between them, and then when she was arm’s distance away, extended the set to him.

He took them wordlessly, his eyes flickering to her left hand, the hand that had been in a cast in the group photo, and couldn’t help but notice the scarring on the appendage. _Hydra._ He could feel his stomach twinge. So it had been torture then.

“Thank you.” He managed after a moment, looking up to meet her silent and watchful gaze. “Is there anything else?” His voice felt harsh as he said it, but if Ramirez took notice, she didn’t show it.

“No.” She shook her head. “That’s all.”

He nodded, uncertain of what to say. Wasn’t there something? Anything? That she wanted to say to him? Was this all she’d meant by tie up loose ends? Wasn’t there something more than this that she wanted to say or do after everything that had happened?

“I’m sure we’ll see one another around. Princess Shuri tells me you’re working with Elder Omondi in the village over, minding goats.” She said quickly, as she returned to her seat, and her coffee.

“I’m also bagging and transporting feed.” He added. “Elder Jelani has a standing order every Tuesday.” He said, more out of a need for transparency than actually wanting to make conversation.

“So, we’ll be running into one another with some regularity, then.“ She commented. Her expression and tone were decidedly neutral.

“You’re out here with the horses.”

“Yes, although I haven’t officially received my a position yet. Have you enjoyed your time out here so far?”

“It’s nice out here. Peaceful,” was the only thing he could think of to say.

“I’m sure it’ll be a nice change of pace.” She agreed.

Bucky didn't know what to say, and they drifted off into a tense silence.

He wanted to say something, wanted to apologize, wanted to say thank you for protecting him, for helping Steve, for being a friend to his sister when he hadn’t had the courage to go to her. He wanted to, but the worlds felt hollow in his mind, even as he formulated them. He wanted closure, he needed closure, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, he chickened out. “I’ll let you get back to your coffee.” He managed finally. “Thank you again, for the journals.”

“No problem. I hope they help. See you around.”

“Yeah, see you around.”

And that was that. He walked away, journals in hand, feeling more bewildered and confused than he’d been before, with even more questions, and feeling somehow even more like a coward than he had before.

He should’ve said something. He should’ve said sorry. He should’ve asked about Becca, or asked for her forgiveness. He should’ve done something other than just stood there like a moron.

Bucky wound through the Wakandan countryside, confused and perplexed, and feeling oddly let down. Shouldn’t there have been something said about the fact that he’d ruined her life? Wasn’t this supposed to bring closure? That’s what this had been about, right? Closure, for both of them.

Perhaps the answers he was looking were in the journals. Perhaps she didn’t want anything to do with him, and so the best way was to hand over the journals so he could see the full extent of what she thought of him without the mess of a conversation.

Yet, she’d been so cordial. Well, of course, she would be, if not for Steve, then because they would be in close contact with one another for the foreseeable future. Still, he couldn't help but feel that something was terribly terribly wrong about that entire interaction. That something had been off about the entire thing. 

Bucky didn’t know.

When he arrived back to his hut and sat down, setting the journals out in front of him, Ramirez had labeled them 1,2,3, and he opened the first one hesitantly, uncertain of what he was going to find. Inside the front cover was a letter. Unfolding it, he found it was in plain English, her tidy handwriting curling out and unfurling before him. It read:

_Dear James,_

_ Let me start by saying sorry if the informality is unwelcome or unwarranted, but honestly, I have no idea how I_ _’d address you. Matt seemed silly, even though it was the name I knew you by, and Bucky likewise seems too informal, considering you and I haven’t met, not really. Therefore I reason, since James is the name you gave me that day in the outbuilding, it is the name that I will use to address you here._

_What follows in these three journals is a complete record of my journey to track you down. As we are just now truly meeting for the first time, the content of these journals may seem strange, invasive, and perhaps downright unsettling. I understand, and I apologize for any discomfort they might cause. Over the past two years, I have heard many stories and uncovered many highly classified documents detailing your life both before 1945 and the long journey you_ _’ve taken since. All of these accounts have varied in degree of intimacy, often divulging highly personal and sensitive information._

_I had two reasons for this when I first started this journal. Primarily I was doing all that I could to help Steve find you, and I had little thought of what the practical consequences of learning as much about you as possible would be. But then, at the time, I reasoned that I needed to know the man I was searching for. I needed to make him more than a name on paper or a face in a photograph. Through that, I built an idea of who I thought you were, which in retrospect, was both unwise and unfair for all parties involved. _

_Since your discovery in Romania back in June, I_ _’ve had some time to think about how best to proceed with both the knowledge I possess and how that concerns us. I came to the following conclusion. Who I am to Steve and who I was to your sister exists outside of what I am to you. You don’t owe me anything, not your time, your friendship, your gratitude, anything unless you feel it is deserved or warranted. So much of your life, from how I’ve come to understand it, has been practically devoid of choice, so I wanted to give you this choice. _

_Finally, it must be stated that, above all, I am a receptacle of knowledge and memory, and that is what you will find in these journals. If my entries or annotations are inadequate or insufficient, I am happy to provide an explanation or elaboration upon request. _

_ Respectfully,_

_ Magdalene I. Ramirez_

Bucky set the letter aside, uncertain of what he should be feeling. It was an unemotional, practically clinical summation of their situation.  
_You don’t owe me anything. _

So she didn’t want anything from him. She only wanted to be honest about their situation. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. It was a blank check, without a hint of good or bad, just there.

His focus then returned to the journals set before him. So. The question now remained, what did she know? He turned to the first page, and it was indeed in the code he and Natalia had developed while they were in Hydra together, and now it seemed Ramirez was fluent as well. Skimming through Ramirez’s iteration of the code, he turned his full attention to the first journal.

The first pages were an evaluation of him, of their time together on the ranch. It continued to her first weeks working with Steve and Wilson. Every day was entered faithfully and included where they were looking, what documents she had found, and her progression with her Russian language training. There was the day she’d met his sister. "Asked Steve to tell me about Barnes, introduced me to Rebecca Barnes-Proctor," and then the entry listed everything they’d talked about, almost like a grocery list.

Through the journal, he was able to trace his journey alongside hers. It was a thorough and detailed account of her activities and what she was discovering about him, both as James Barnes and the Winter Soldier. It was jarring to see the two worlds, two perspectives, presented side by side, nearly oblivious to how starkly they contrasted one another.

Then. There was an entry in plain English, scratched through heavily, but he was still able to make it out. It read simply. "Becca is dying. Where the fuck are you, Barnes?" It was the only ounce of emotion he could squeeze out of the pages and pages of writing, and he could feel the visceral anger seeping from the pages into his skull. The entries continued, until again there was another entry in plain English, stating simply, Becca Barnes-Proctor 1929-2015. After that, there was a complete shift in entries. There were no longer "Bucky Barnes" factoids. Instead, it was information about the Winter Soldier. Not just what he had done, but also what had been done to him, in cold and unfeeling detail: The memory wipe, the prosthesis, the mind control (although without any key information). Eventually, the journal became more about Romanoff’s lessons, with infrequent notes and entries about the continued search for his location.

Then, the journal ended abruptly with a single sentence. ‘Barnes Found in Romania.’

And that was it.

He knew what she knew, which was both massive in scope and content. Yet, he still felt on edge. There was no hint of personal feelings about what she was writing or what she had learned. With the single exception of the crossed-out lines asking where he was when she’d found out Becca was dying, there was no emotion in her words.

In his own journals, Bucky recalled, there had been no emotion in what he’d written about what he’d remembered. He’d written at length about her and the other of the Winter Soldier’s victims, and he’d done his best to keep editorialization down to a minimum. Just fact, just raw data.

But this...He glanced down at the journals spread across his lap...this was something else. When he’d been researching, he’d been looking for his past, but with Ramirez, it was like she had reached into his brain, into his memories into his past, and put it on display. He didn’t know how to feel, or furthermore what he was supposed to do.

What did Ramirez think of everything she had learned? He didn’t know and had gotten little help from anything she’d written or said. What had finding all of that outdone to her? What did that information do to people? He didn’t even fully grasp what it had done...was doing to him, and he’d lived it.

He flipped through the journals again, slowly, and he examined the photographs that she had stuffed between the pages, the photo of him and Becca sitting on the front porch of his parent’s house. She was wearing her favorite blue dress. He was in his dress uniform. He reached out and picked up the picture, surveying it carefully. Was that the man that Becca had remembered? He didn’t know, nothing in the journals revealed anything beyond what Ramirez knew.

He returned that one to its place and flipped to the next photograph. It was one much more recently, November 11, 2014, Ramirez’s birthday. Ramirez was smiling, addressing the camera directly, while Becca looked at her with this look of adoration on her face.

_They were friends. Your sister loved her. Maggie took Becca’s death hard. _

Yet, Ramirez hadn’t said anything about Becca at all to him, not in the letter nor in their conversation outside of her dwelling. With the single exception of, “Who I am to Steve and who I was to your sister exists outside of what I am to you.”

But that didn’t mean anything.

Bucky frowned. Perhaps he’d missed something. Perhaps there was more to uncover. Spreading the letter and the journals and photos tucked inside out on a low table, he picked up a pencil and his own journal and started again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they're finally in the same room together [so to speak] and it only took over 100,000 words to get them there! *Screams* I promise I won't wait that long again. I can't wait to show you what I have in store for them! I hope you enjoyed! I look forward to hearing what you think! Comments, Subscriptions, and Kudos are always welcome and deeply appreciated. Thanks for sticking in there with me Peeps!


	4. Awkward re-introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don't Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear' and is Part III of IV of my "Find Your Way Home" Series. So if you're confused, that's why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: Stuck in the Middle with You by Stealers Wheel; I Wanna Be Sedated by The Ramones; Tainted Love by Soft Cell; Twilight Zone by Golden Earring
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=X5FWi-D5SGS9d9UJ_4tuvg

Maggie had been in Wakanda for one week and a day. It felt like a lifetime, which made it even harder for her to believe that she's survived in Juarez for three months. She'd been through a lot, and the last week felt muddled together in a soupy fog of exhaustion and uncertainty.

She'd spent her first two days in Wakanda cooped up in a conference room, surrounded by what Maggie could only assume was Wakanda's top brass, military and intelligence commanders (most of them women much to Maggie's surprise). She'd endured two twelve-hour days, answering questions, and providing as much information she could about the Network. They'd been thorough but gentle, which was all she could ask for in the circumstances. They'd even been kind enough to provide visual confirmation that the Maria and the three girls had made it to safety. The Maria was in stable condition and expected to make a full recovery, while the girls should be reunited with their families in the next 12 to 36 hours. Had the Wakandas provided medical care for the other woman? How close of a call had it been? Had there been something more going on that night?

Maggie didn't know, and she hadn't been at liberty to ask. She hadn't been very high up in the Network but had done her best to answer their extensive questions. She wanted to help keep the Network safe and secure, and the Wakandans seemed interested in the same ends.

When the Wakandans were finally satisfied that they'd extracted every last bit of useful information out of her, Maggie had been taken personally by the King and his royal guard out to her new home. She'd talked with the village chief, Jelani and his wife Teela, who had agreed to sponsor her in their village. It hadn't taken her long to move in, just her go-bag, and a few pieces of clothing that the Wakandans had been kind enough to give her, considering that her own clothes had been blood-stained and sporting bullet holes.

She'd been in the village less than twenty-four hours when the princess had contacted her. _‘Barnes wants to talk with you, whenever works best for you'_

Steve had left in such a hurry she was almost certain that he'd forgotten to mention anything to Barnes. So it had surprised Maggie that Barnes had reached out to arrange a meeting. Maggie had replied almost immediately, she and the Princess had set up the meeting time and place, and the rest, as they say, was history.

It had been four days since the handoff, and she was still stuck in that moment, replaying it over and over in her head. She'd been trying hard not to think about what had happened. She was trying not to think about a lot of things. However, she was only succeeding in making herself angry, frustrated, and exhausted.

The exhaustion couldn't be helped. She hadn't had much success with sleep in the capital, even on the floor. Maggie had achieved more marginal success in getting to sleep now that she was out here in the middle of nowhere. However, even when she managed to fall asleep, she'd been waking up in cold sweats, clutching her stomach, and screaming.

It was her brain, Maggie knew, her brain attempting to process what had happened while she was in Juarez. Not just what had happened to her, but what she'd done to stay alive.

It was PTSD. Maggie was aware that's what it was. She'd lived in near terror and constant danger for over three months, had shot and killed people, and had been shot and nearly killed herself. That was prime and fruitful territory for PTSD. This was, of course, not taking into account what she'd put herself through for almost two and a half years when she'd been searching for Barnes. The things she had learned about the Winter Soldier, she had carried them with her in her mind. All of the horrible, brutal, violent things that had been done to and perpetrated by him, they were all still with her, even as she'd tried her damndest to forget.

It was part of the reason she'd wanted to hand over the journals to Barnes. She'd hoped that perhaps it would allow her brain to recognize that her mission, when it came to that, was over. She'd done everything. She'd achieved her mission, her goal, she could let go. She could wash her hands of the entire situation.

_No. The deal was that if you found Barnes, you could go home._

Maggie paused, looking up and around at her surroundings. The gentle rolling grasslands dotted with clusters of trees under the looming shadow of the jungle and mountains above. Her eyes watered just looking at it. It was beautiful, but it wasn't home.

Maggie glanced around Jelani's workshop. It was like many other ferrier workshops that she'd seen, been in, and operated. It had a forge, an anvil, and all of the rasps, clippers, and hammers that any ferrier would need. It was tidy and organized. Just outside, there were the stocks, where horses would be secured to be shod. Yet, as Maggie looked around, it was unlike anything she'd ever seen. This was a Wakandan smith, and there were vibranium tools and devices that made shodding horses a hundred times easier, faster, and more effective.

She'd been shodding horses since she was sixteen, and had started learning far younger than that. So it had only seemed natural that she would be assigned to the head ferrier in Wakandan. Jelani was more than just a Ferrier; he was a vet, breeder, and helped to manage the horse herds around Wakanda. But for her part, Maggie was going to help with the shodding of the massive herds of Wakandan horses.

However, with the tremor and weakness of her left hand, it would've been nigh impossible for her to shod horses if they were doing it the western method. Fortunately, Jelani had taught her the Wakandan method, and she'd been able to perfect her technique in a single round of shodding. But she'd done the other method all of her life, and she was determined to be able to shod horses the way that her grandfather had taught her. She wasn't going to let a little thing like a crushed hand get in the way of that, which was why she was engaged in this stupid, futile task.

Maggie sighed, glancing back down at the horseshoe she was trying to bend to the correct shape.

She didn't need to do this. She had nothing to prove. She could do perfectly fine work with the Wakandan method. There wasn't any need or reason for her to strain herself trying to do something that was very clearly outside of her ability at the moment.

Her left hand was still shaking and the clamps were difficult to hold, making her hammer work shoddy, giving the shoe a wave, but she needed to do this. It was like the guitar thing. She'd tried and tried after three months of PT to pick the guitar back up. It had been painful and slow and damn near impossible. So she'd given up and passed the guitar along to Wanda, who knew how to play and had been in the market for a new guitar at the time. Doing this, shodding a horse, it was something pre "barn Matt" Maggie, pre-hydra Maggie could've done with her eyes closed. Only now, here she was, struggling, unable to do what had used to be a simple task. It was yet one more thing stolen from her, a part of her that she might never get back, no matter how hard she tried.

With a disgusted groan, Maggie set both the tongs with the shoe still attached and hammer on the anvil, and sunk down onto the bench a few feet away. Yanking off her gloves, she set them beside her, and buried her head in her hands, drawing in a few shuddering breaths.

_It wasn't fair. I did everything right. I shouldn't be here. I should be home._

Maggie knew that wasn't true. Natasha had warned her that if she proceeded past the point of no return she wouldn't be able to get out of this. At the time that had seemed nearly laughable, besides, it would be worth it in the end, being able to bring Becca's brother home to see his sister before she passed away. It would be worth it to find and bring Steve's friend home after seventy years of brainwashing and torture. The means had justified the ends. _What was the worst that could happen?_ She'd reasoned. She'd already been declared dead, and separated from her ranch. What could be worse than that?

Maggie snorted. _Dumbass. _

She'd been warned. She'd been warned repeatedly, and now she was paying the price. She wasn't just dead _legally_, but now in Wakanda, she was legally in _limbo_. She couldn't leave because any number of world governments would be happy to pick her brain, and then make her more than just dead on paper. Yet, Maggie couldn't help but balk at the fact that she'd been freer in Juarez of all places to choose her destiny than she was now.

She'd been happy in Juarez as much as anyone can be happy in a virtual war zone. She'd had a purpose and was making solid, effective change. And yeah sure, the cartels wanted her dead, but if the cartels didn't want you dead where you really being effective? The point being she'd been the master of her own fate for the first time in a long time, and had very purposefully not reached out to anyone to be "found" or "rescued." She didn't _want _to be found. She didn't _want _to be rescued. She'd been prepared to die to get those girls out. That was okay with her. She'd been doing what she thought was right, and wasn't being used by anyone.

Then somehow, James Barnes had dragged her back into this mess.

It wasn't his fault. Maggie knew that on a fundamental level. He hadn't asked to be framed. He hadn't wanted to be tortured and mind-controlled by Nazis for seventy years. Yet, Maggie found that she had focused all of her ire, all her anger, all of her pent up frustration on the man, and on a single phrase.

_Is there anything else?_

He may as well have asked, "Is that it?" As if her life's work over the past two years meant nothing. As if it was superfluous.

Truth be told, it hadn't meant a damn thing. It had taken a terrorist attack, and the worldwide manhunt to finally bring the Winter Soldier in. Everything she'd done, everything she'd learned, in the end, had meant absolutely nothing. To believe anything else would be nothing short of outright delusional. But it had meant something to _her. _Wasn't that worth anything?

_No. _

It wasn't worth anything, and he'd told her as much. The thought alone left a bitter taste in her mouth.

_It was supposed to be easier once we found him._ She wanted to scream. But nothing had been easier, not one single goddamn thing. Now she was _stuck_ here for the foreseeable future, and the one person with any point of familiarity was a man who had played a hand in ruining her life.

She wanted to talk to Sam or Natasha, or even Steve, someone, anyone who would or could provide insight and guidance on what she should do, or should even be thinking. She wanted someone she could confide in, who would listen, who wouldn't judge her for the shit she was trying to work through.

Lifting her head from her hands, Maggie wiped at her face and the tears streaming down her cheeks.

_How could I have been so stupid?_

Was it stupidity to want acknowledgment for her sacrifices and work? Was it stupid of her to think that maybe he might have some kind of reaction to seeing her for the first time in two years after she'd been declared dead by Hydra?

How long had he known that she was alive? Did he care? Had he given her a second thought after he'd left the ranch? Did he give a shit that she'd lost everything because of him? She didn't know, and it didn't seem like she would be getting that answer any time soon.

What was worse was that Maggie was a liar. She'd known she was a liar before, but now she knew for sure. She had told Barnes that she didn't want anything from him, and now she knew that was wholly and completely untrue.

_This isn't about me or what I'm feeling; this is about giving Barnes the information that I've collected on him. That doesn't need to be complicated by my feelings on the matter._

That's what she'd reasoned, that's what she'd told herself, that's what had gotten her through their interaction. But as soon as he'd walked away with her journals, as soon as he'd left with two years of her life and more horrible memories than she cared to think about, she knew she was lying to herself.

Maggie wanted to know if her sacrifice had been worth it. She wanted to know if the man she had sacrificed her livelihood, life, sanity, and freedom to had been worth it. She wanted to know if there was anything of the charming man who had been Becca's brother left. If something remained of the good, brave, and honorable man Steve Rogers loved and admired. If there had been a good person in the man, Natasha had known as the Winter Soldier. She wanted to know if anything she had learned about the person, rather than the weapon that Hydra had built and deployed with efficiency and deadly force, was still in there somewhere.

That's what she wanted. A response. An answer to that question. Yet, since she'd handed off the journals four days ago, she hadn't seen hide nor hair of James Barnes.

No news would've been good news in any other circumstance. Perhaps he hadn't read them. It was always a possibility that he didn't want to know what she'd found out or didn't care what she knew. That was always an option. One that he could choose to make. After all, that was what she'd written in her letter. Choice, she was giving him a choice. 

_What about me?_ The selfish voice in the back of her head screamed. _Don't I matter? Don't I get a choice in this continuously fucked up situation?_

Maggie shook her head. It wasn't any use thinking like that. There was no point. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right. She'd learned that a long time ago. It didn't matter how much she raged at the universe. It wouldn't change anything. No matter what she did, the universe would continue to spin on.

She wiped her face, pulled her gloves back on, and returned to work.

Maggie had only managed a few more hammer strikes when she paused at the sound of approaching footsteps and a wheeled cart.

Her stomach turned. _Fuck._

Turning, she found none other than James Buchanan Barnes walking up the path with a heavily laden mule cart.

_Speak of the actual fucking devil. _

He hadn't seen her yet, and Maggie was glad for the opportunity to give him a once over without those eyes boring into her, doing an evaluation of their own.

He was still broad-shouldered like he'd been On Last Chance, but now he walked without the familiar gait, due to the missing metal prosthesis. His hair was grown out and had been pulled back in a half up half down style. His face was fuller than it had been when he'd been on the ranch with her, and he had the beginnings of what could eventually be considered a respectable beard. His expression was firm, almost grim, as he walked up the winding path toward the feed barn and workshops where she was standing. He was wearing practical clothing like he'd been at their meeting at her dwelling: work boots, pants, a sleeveless button-down, and a scarf tied around his neck to hide the stub of what remained of the Winter Soldier Prosthesis.

Maggie searched and searched, looking for some scrap, some ounce of the man she'd seen in Becca's photographs or Steve's drawings, but only saw _Matt,_ the man in her barn, his eyes cold, and sharp and critical as they'd been before.

What had he seen in his evaluation of her the other day? She didn't want to know. Didn't want to know if she'd somehow managed to look even more like a sad husk of a human being than she already had been back when he'd known her on the ranch.

Then her mind turned to the next logical question. _Why is he even here?_

_The Cart. _Her brain supplied. _Fuck. Feed delivery._

Was it Tuesday already? Barnes had told here that he delivered feed to Jelani every Tuesday. Jelani had even mentioned that there was going to be a feed delivery today.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Maggie froze. She couldn't deal with him, not like this, not right now, when she'd just been crying. Perhaps he hadn't seen her. Maybe she could duck out of his line of sight, and he'd just deliver the feed and go away.

_Now you're being stupid. You're a goddamn adult. You need to behave like a goddamn adult. Besides, if he's read the journals, you might get what you're after._

"What?" Maggie asked, and she realized that he'd spoken to her.

"I asked if Jelani was around," Barnes said evenly.

"No." Maggie managed. "No, He had to run into town. But he showed me where to put the feed."

Barnes nodded, moving wordlessly with the cart and mule to the feed shed. Maggie set the hammer and clamp down and joined him at the feed shed, swinging opened the door, they started to offload the cart into the shed.

Suddenly it was like they were back on Last Chance, and although he was now down a limb, still moved with a silent, deadly purpose.

_I must have been out of my goddamn mind. I should've called the cops on this guy the minute I saw him._ She couldn't help but think as she watched him out of the corner of her eye. _It would've saved me a helluva lot of trouble. _It was a terrible thing to think, something that she'd thought a lot in those dark days after Becca had passed. Something that she'd been thinking a lot over the past few days too. She wished she didn't think that, wished that she could be as selfless now as she'd been back when he'd been on the ranch with her. But the bitter little voice in the back of her head couldn't help but whisper all of the cold, bitter terrible things into her ear.

_He was sick and hurt, and in trouble, you did what you thought was right._

There she was, the little noble voice in the back of her head, feeble now, and very very small.

_Is there anything else? _That's what he had said when she'd handed over all that she had to show for the last two and a half years of her life.

And nothing she had done mattered.

"Can do." She auto responded, her mind filling in the blanks of the conversation. Maggie stopped. _No, that wasn't right._

Looking up, she found that Barnes was staring at her, a perplexed expression on his face.

Obviously, her response hadn't made any sense. _Fuck._ Her mind scrambled, trying to replay what her ears had heard, but that her brain hadn't processed.

"Heyi! White Wolf!"

Maggie was saved by Jelani, an older Wakandan man, wearing the now-familiar orange and black pattern of the plainsmen, his teenage son Sisay following behind him. Both of them were carrying heavy packs as they approached the workshop and shed.

"Come help an old man, White Wolf," Jelani instructed, waving him over.

They exchanged some rapid words in Wakandan, which Maggie didn't understand or speak as they unloaded the large packs. Maggie hesitated, uncertain if she should ask to be excused, wait for a dismissal, or just excuse herself.

"Heyi, Cowgirl!" Maggie's attention turned to Jelani.

"Ewe?" She stammered out in some of the only Wakandan she'd managed to pick up thus far.

"Grab the extra pair of goat hoof clippers and a good rasp." He said shortly.

Maggie nodded and wordlessly did as instructed, a furious, red hot blush rise on her cheeks. They were both watching her as she went into the workshop, and riffled around through the toolbox. Why was she embarrassed? She hadn't done anything wrong or even remotely embarrassing. It was because she was off balance and off-kilter. If this had been the ranch back home, she wouldn't feel this way. She'd be in control of herself and know what she was doing. But this wasn't back home. This wasn't her ranch or her workshop. Instead, she was a guest, a stranger, an employee. Not that's she minded any of that. She just knew that there were certain expectations of an employee rather than as someone self-employed doing the work they wanted.

She collected the requested items and returned outside, where Barnes and Jelani were still talking.

"Excellent, this will do well for Omondi. Tell him that he can borrow them, but I'll want them back before the end of the week." Jelani explained, taking the tools from her and placing them directly in the back of the mule cart that had previously contained the feed. "White Wolf, you have met Cowgirl before, yes?"

Maggie turned to the older man, who was watching them with intrigue.

"Yes," Barnes said shortly.

"Good. Good. I am leaving her in charge of my shop when I am out attending calls. My son is learning the trade, too, since he will take it over when he is old enough." Jelani clapped Sisay on the back, beaming with pride.

Maggie could feel her stomach sink with dread. The question hadn't been random. Nor had the follow-up statement. Jelani knew what he was doing. He wanted to see if they'd been introduced because she would be dealing directly with Barnes for the weekly feed delivery. She would be the one running errands, or around to answer questions, or whatever if and when Jelani was away from the village, which judging from what she had seen over the past few days was quite a bit. She would be dealing directly with Barnes regularly, and Jelani wanted to know if they would be able to do so. _Great._

How much did the old man know? How much had the Wakandas been told about the history between her and Barnes? Of course, they'd assume there was some sort of connection but had T'Challa or Shuri, or any number of the Wakandan military and intelligence brass given out a briefing packet? Or had they been left to assume and fill in the blanks on their own?

"That sound good, Cowgirl?" Jelani inquired.

Did she have a choice? Could she say no? Probably, but to what end? She was out here in the countryside rather than cooped up in a palace apartment by the good graces of the King and this man. What good would it do to be difficult? None absolutely none.

"Yeah." She nodded. "That sounds good."

Maggie glanced over at Barnes, who was watching her with those piercing blue eyes, cold and critical. _Say something goddamn it._ She wanted to scream. _Say something, acknowledge me! Acknowledge why I'm here! Acknowledge that you ruined my life, you bastard! _She wanted to shake him by the shoulders until she shook his head clean from his shoulders.

"Excellent. I will let you get back to your rounds, have a good day." Jelani told Barnes pleasantly.

"Thank you. I will pass the tools off to Omondi as soon as I get back. Have a good day." He said, directing his gaze at her. "Ramirez." He nodded simply.

"Barnes." She nodded again.

"See around then, White Wolf." Jelani waved him off, and they stood in silence as Barnes led the cart and mule away and out of sight.

So she was going to be seeing him with even more frequency than she'd initially expected.

_How the fuck am I going to manage that?_

Maggie didn't know. She hadn't been able to hold a conversation with the man, and she couldn't imagine it was going to get any better the longer things went on.

_It was supposed to be easier once we found him._

Her brain kept coming back to that thought, to that perceived truth that Maggie had built up in her mind the entire two and a half years that she'd been looking for the guy. It wasn't supposed to get harder. It wasn't supposed to be more complicated.

_It doesn't matter what it was supposed to be. This is it. This is the reality._ She decided finally.

Why didn't he say something? Say anything? It couldn't be that hard, could it? _"I read the journals. They were useful, thank you." _It wasn't that hard, was it? It could be something as simple as that.

She wanted _closure._ But then again, what she wanted wasn't important.

She shook her head, turning back toward the workshop. "You don't have a problem working with Barnes, do you?" She glanced over at Jelani, who was still watching her intently.

"No." She shook her head. _I can be professional. I can be civil. I can be goddamn chipper if I have to be._

"You and him have a history together," Jelani said, knowingly.

_Understatement of the millennium. _"Something like that," Maggie answered.

"Have you eaten lunch yet?" Jelani inquired, changing the subject.

Her stomach growled, answering the question for her.

"Come," Jelani said, clapping her on the back, Teela has made more than enough, you should take a break before the midday heat settles in too much."

Maggie nodded as he led her wordlessly toward his family's dwelling, which was situated under a large, lush cluster of trees.

This was all going to take some adjustment: the living situation, the working situation, the Barnes situation. Maggie was going to have to grin and bear all of it for a while until she got used to it, or it resolved itself. There wasn't any other choice, presently. Besides, if Barnes could act like there was nothing wrong, and that all of this was normal and peachy, then so could she. After all, she had said that she didn't want anything out of him, even if that was the absolute farthest thing from the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo what do we think? Personally, this chapter was difficult to write, but also super cathartic in some ways? Regardless, a classic case of miscommunication, and it's all gonna come to a head in chapter five (with good results I promise I'm not stringing y'all along). I hope all of you enjoyed! Can't wait to hear what you think. 
> 
> Some minor housekeeping things. Is posting on Thursdays good for y'all? How's the playlist working out? Do you like the one chapter a week thing? Would two chapters be too much? (Although I have no idea how long personally I'd be able to keep up at that pace but right now I'm already writing chapter 7 and it is a LOT fun) I'm excited and ready to share Maggie and Bucky's journey with all of you! Likewise would anyone be interested in like "Special features" with old drafts, outlines, and discussions of method like on Tumblr or what have you? Just let me know!
> 
> AS always thank you for reading, always love hearing your reactions, don't be afraid to drop a line, leave a kudos, or what have you! Happy Reading!


	5. Two Wrong Turns Don't Make A Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: It Never Rains, but What it Pours by Judy Garland; Under Pressure by Queen; It's Coming Down by Cake
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=xcKn0OgKT7mv3ZLhXWBWiw

Bucky was sitting out in the pasture, the massive grasslands seemed to stretch on forever, and had grass so green it looked nearly blue in the bright sun. It had been over a week and a half since Magdalene Ramirez had arrived in Wakanda, almost a week since she’d given him the journals, and three days since he’d seen her at Jelani’s during the feed delivery.

He’d re-read the journals at least a dozen times. He hadn’t exactly been sleeping well and had been having more migraines. He wasn’t sure if there was any connection between Ramirez and the uptick in headaches, but he did know that he was still missing something key that would help him answer a number of questions. The journal, the letter, the photographs, and even Ramirez herself were all telling him different things.

Bucky sighed, shaking his head, his eyes trained on his small herd of goats a dozen or so yards away. He wished Steve were here. Things might be easier if Steve was around to mediate, or not even mediate, just help translate what was going on so that he could understand how the hell he was supposed to respond. Ramirez, for her part, had been distracted, cold, and short with her interactions during the feed delivery. She’d also looked like she’d just been crying. Steve would’ve had more luck talking to her than he’d had recently. Though how effective Steve would’ve been in getting Bucky the answers he was looking for remained to be seen. This was the guy who’s first reaction to Ramirez asking to speak with Bucky had been, “I’ll handle it.”

He’d wanted to ask about the journals, he wanted to say thank you, he wanted to apologize for ...well everything, but it hadn’t seemed like the appropriate time or place. She hadn’t seemed like she wanted to talk to him anyway, and she didn’t owe him her time or energy, particularly after everything that she’d been through because of him. Anyway, Jelani had been around, and Bucky certainly didn’t want to drag out his business with Ramirez in front of the Wakandans, if at all possible. If not out of respect for his hosts, then out of respect for Ramirez.

Despite himself, Bucky _did_ want to talk to her. He wanted to ask about the photographs she'd left in the pages of the journals, each tucked into the corresponding entry. The snapshot from Ramirez’s birthday party had been of particular interest, the one of Ramirez and his sister. Had she meant to leave that in the journal, or had it been an oversight on her part? What did she know about his relationship with Steve or Romanoff for that matter? What did she think of what Hydra had done to him? What about what he had done?

His questions were endless, but that didn’t mean she owed him an explanation.

It had taken him everything he had to not to walk over to the horse village in the middle of the night after he’d read through the journals a second time and found he had even more questions than after the first read-through. After all, Ramirez had said in her letter she was willing and able to answer any questions he might have. But just because she’d said she was willing, didn’t mean that she wanted to, it didn’t mean that he _should _ask. Besides, when would he have the chance to talk to her outside of when she was working or around Jelani, Sisay, or any of the other Wakandans? Would there ever be an appropriate time to talk about his sister, about his past, about their shared history? He didn’t know.

Bucky grimaced, looking down at his journal, and tapped his pen against the blank page. He really should try to write it out in the journal. It might help him think through all of this mess before he inflicted it upon Ramirez. He’d been writing more since Ramirez arrived, mostly trying to piece together what he’d lost in the journals that had been confiscated in Berlin from what she had written in her own. She’d been very thorough, although admittedly she hadn’t found out _everything, _or if she had, she’d kept it to herself and not recorded it in the pages she’d given him.

He stopped, pausing at the sound of unfamiliar footfalls. His mind raced as he slowly honed in on the sound, his eyes squeezed shut. It wasn’t the kids. There wasn’t more than one pair. It wasn’t the King and the Dora, the King rarely ventured out this far, and never without a guard of some kind. Nor was it the princess. She had a sort of spring, skip to her step, and rarely wore hard-soled shoes, and it definitely wasn’t Steve. Yet Bucky knew he had heard that particular gait before.

Looking up and opening his eyes, Bucky found Ramirez cutting across the field. She was about halfway between the two tree lines that framed the pasture when she stopped, turned around, and took a few steps. Then, she stopped again, shook her head, muttered something under her breath before she turned back around, marching back the way she’d come.

_She’s lost._ He realized. _Shit. _How the hell was he going to announce his presence without causing a scene? He couldn’t exactly just let her wander around the Wakandan countryside lost. Closing his journal and stowing it and the pen in his satchel, he rose to his feet. “You Lost?” He called, doing his best to project his voice without sounding like he was shouting.

Ramirez froze, before turning around to face him. “Hi.” She said shortly.

“You lost?” He repeated as he walked toward her.

“I think I got a little turned around. Which way to Omondi’s? Jelani sent me for the tools he let him borrow.” Ramirez replied, her expression tense, her whole body coiled as if ready for an oncoming attack.

She was headed toward his village? She’d been walking in the opposite direction and was now over two miles away from where she needed to be. “Do you have your Kimoyo bracelet on you? I could mark a waypoint for you?” Bucky asked hesitantly.

“I don’t.”

Well, that made things more complicated. He’d either have to explain it to her and hope she got it right or he’d have to show her the way himself. Which, based on her body language wasn’t something she’d be interested in doing. “You’re about two miles away from where you need to be if you take the shortest path.” He explained, “But the best-marked path is about three miles.”

Ramirez exhaled sharply, looking down at the ground, muttering a few key curse words to herself. “So I am really lost then, aren’t I?” She sighed, looking back up at him and addressing him directly.

“I can show you the way. I needed to head back that way soon anyway.” He paused as the rumble of thunder interrupted him. “If there’s a thunderstorm coming, you’d be better off coming with me anyway.”

Something crossed her face, Bucky wasn’t sure if it was anger or resignation, but it was only a momentary lapse in control that she had. Her features resumed their cool neutral expression before he could quite pinpoint what he was seeing, or rather what he wasn’t seeing. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“We’re going in the same direction.” Bucky replied, “Although I do have goats with me, it might take a little bit longer.”

There was a brief paused as she debated with herself before she answered evenly, “If you’re already headed that direction, I can follow you.”

There hadn’t even been an uptick in her tone, no use of sarcasm, no angry drawl. Her tone was smooth, even, and controlled, controlled, of course, being the operative word. His eyes flickered only a moment to her hands, which were down by her side, and balled into fists. Ramirez was coiled, like a snake in the grass, like she’d been when confronting Roberts. Was she expecting a fight from him? No. Controlled. She was controlling her expression, her tone, even her body. Was she going to fight him? She was accepting his help. So that it couldn’t be it, could it? Bucky didn’t know, and as thunder continued rumbling overhead, he knew he needed to get the goats back to their hutch before the storm arrived. He didn’t have time to guess what Ramirez was thinking at the moment.

“Follow me, the storm is moving fast, and we’ll need to be out of the jungle before it arrives.” He instructed firmly, picking up the stick he’d been using to prod the goats, though they generally had a mind of their own.

Ramirez nodded, following behind him in silence.

They walked through the field, collecting his small herd of six goats before they started down the goat path that would lead them the fastest back to the village. Ramirez didn’t say a word as they walked, single file down the trail. The goats walked in front, and he followed, pushing them along. Behind him, Ramirez brought up the rear. She was keeping a good pace, walking five to ten yards behind him. Her breathing was even, her gait consistent. She didn’t say a word.

_Now would be the perfect time to talk, middle of the woods, no Wakandans around, you’re not going to get another chance like this._

Bucky wasn’t stupid. Something was going on, and he got the distinct feeling that bringing anything up related to their history wouldn’t end well, or at the very least, wasn’t going to go the way that he would’ve wanted. Yet, at the same time, there was something expectant hanging in the air, as if Ramirez was waiting for him to say something. Waiting for him to ask. Waiting for some kind of misstep. Waiting for a reason to unleash the pent up fury behind her expression upon him.

He’d deserve it. There was no doubt about it, but the value of bringing down such wrath upon himself right now in the middle of the jungle seemed minimal. So although Bucky might deserve it, he didn’t want to give her a reason to employ it, at least until they made it back to the village.

The thunder grew louder overhead, the crackle of lighting making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. He picked up the pace, and wordlessly Ramirez matched it. Then the rain came, first as a light mist, before it started pouring down around them in thick heavy droplets, quickly soaking through his clothes and hair.

“You still with me back there?” He asked, without glancing over his shoulder at her, his focus primarily on his goat, and making sure they stayed together.

“Fine. Just great.” She drawled, though her voice was barely audible over the sound of the downpour.

“Watch your step, the path is steep up ahead, and it’s going to be slick with the rain," Bucky warned.

The goats ahead of him were light and nimble, and they moved easily, and quickly, despite the terrain and weather. Humans, on the other hand, were not quite as adept at navigating in the same conditions. The last thing either of them needed was to slip and fall and bust-

This thought was interrupted by a short scream and ample swearing. Stopping, he turned to see Ramirez on the ground, lying flat on her back

“You alright?” He asked.

“Damn it,” She muttered, sitting up, rubbing the back of her head.

“You alright?” Bucky repeated over the sound of thunder.

“I’m fine,” She bit out flatly, as she did an inventory of her physical state.

Bucky paused, doing an evaluation of his own. She didn’t look to be seriously hurt. Upon initial scan, he didn’t see any broken bones or blood, although if she did have something more severe than just a few scrapes and bruises, they’d be in a lot of trouble.

There was another low rumble of thunder, followed by lightning that flashed so bright it illuminated the entire jungle. They were getting ready to have several problems in a moment if they delayed any longer. “Can you walk?”

She looked up at him, her expression furrowed. “What?”

“Can you walk?’ He repeated. “The rain’s only going to get worse as the storm rolls through.”

“I...I...don’t know. Probably?” She grimaced. “I think. I think I twisted my ankle.” She rose shakily to her feet, testing her ankle, she winced. Pausing, Ramirez looked up and met his gaze. “You don’t have to wait. I’ll be right behind you.” She said firmly, putting her foot down solidly.

It was convincing, and Bucky almost would have bought it, if not for the fact that her whole body shook, and her face was sheet white as she took a couple faltering steps forward for good measure.

“Come on.” She said, limping down the path. “As you said, this is only going to get worse. I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t be walking on that ankle.”

“Well, I don’t exactly see any other choice, presently, Barnes.” She replied through gritted teeth, barely forcing back a whimper as she applied more pressure than her ankle or pain tolerance could take.

He would’ve admired her stubbornness had he not been in the middle of an African jungle, in the rain, with six goats, one arm, and one very angry, frustrated woman. The ankle was going to slow them down, the Goats were going to get spooked the longer they stayed out here, and he couldn’t very well abandon either party. He’d have one hell of a time explaining how and why they’d all been swept away in a thunderstorm. “Let me carry you.”

Ramirez laughed a harsh, choked laugh. “Jeezus Christ. This is really happening, isn’t it?” She shook her head before hobbling a few more feet. Stopping, she sighed, lifting her face to the canopy above, mouthing something under her breath before she looked back at him. “Fine.” She said tersely, surveying him with a critical expression. “As you’re down an arm, you’re going to have to fireman carry my sorry ass, aren’t you?”

Bucky had to hide his surprise. He hadn’t had to convince her. He hadn’t had to ask more than once or wait for her to fall again so he could scoop her up and throw her over his shoulder while she thrashed. All things being equal, this was going a lot better than he’d imagined it might have otherwise. “Sorry.”

“We’ll move faster that way. Can’t exactly see me using you as a crutch.” She sighed, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve, only smearing dirt and vegetation across her forehead. “Let’s get this over with, shall we, Mr. Barnes?”

They talked through their plan of approach, and while they maneuvered awkwardly, Ramirez was deceivingly light and surprisingly cooperative. After a brief adjustment on the part of both parties, he was walking with her over his shoulders.

Trudging along in silence, watching his step, and keeping a watchful eye on the goats, Bucky was aware of the seething energy that was coming off Ramirez. She was trembling, from the cold rain that poured down around them, but there was palpable, visceral anger that filled the silence between them.

_Should I ask if something’s wrong?_

No. That never worked well with dames. Not that Ramirez was a dame, but she certainly was angry, and asking her directly might not be the best way to defuse the situation at present.

_If I don’t ask, then how the hell am I going to figure out what’s wrong? _The best course of action for the moment would be to focus on the path and get them back to his hut safely. Once he got her back on her own two feet, then they could have that discussion. _Maybe._

“You still with me, Ramirez?” He asked.

“Mhh, Hmm.” She mumbled. Nodding, she made no other motion.

“We’re almost to my place. I can get the village healer to take a look at it when the rain lets up.” Bucky continued feeling almost compelled to say something to the woman lying across his shoulders.

Ramirez didn’t respond, holding perfectly still as he traversed the narrow, steep, and rocky path. He could hear her breathing, practically feel her heart pounding, her body tense, her hands clenched around a wad of his scarf. She was shaking. Bucky couldn’t help but think about how close they were and couldn’t help but be reminded of the last time they’d been in close proximity together. The small little outbuilding when she’d patched him up. He’d been afraid, terrified if he was honest, and had been moments away from losing all self-control and making a run for it. He could’ve hurt her. He could’ve killed her, even unintentionally.

_Is she frightened of me? _

Certainly anger had crossed his mind, she had plenty of reason to be angry, but fear? That, for whatever reason, hadn’t occurred to him. She hadn’t been frightened of him that day in the outbuilding, though she’d certainly had plenty of reason to be. A lot had happened since then. She knew more now about him than she had then. She didn’t _seem_ frightened, but that could be for any number of reasons.

“This is okay, right?” He asked softly.

Ramirez shifted slightly, her breathing changed. “It could be worse,” she chuckled humorlessly.

“Am I hurting you?” That’s what she’d asked him, every step of the way.

“No.” She shook her head. There was a pause, and for a brief moment Bucky was sure she was going to follow it up with something else, but the moment passed, and nothing else came.

Bucky said nothing. There was nothing more to be said.

When they arrived at his hut, he eased her down onto her feet, under the small awning. “I’m going to pen the goats in their hutch. You can head inside and try and get dry.” He instructed

Without waiting for a response, he charged to the goat hutch, where all six of them had gathered of their own accord and were waiting for him to shut the door after them. “You’re smart.” He commented, glancing over his shoulder at Ramirez, who was leaning against the hut, trying to remove her boots. “Smarter than I am.” He added.

Latching and securing the gate, he crossed the yard to where Ramirez was still struggling.“It’ll be easier when you’re sitting,” He motioned with his head to the interior, she shot him a cold look. “You can wait out in the storm if you like, but it’ll warmer and dryer inside,” Bucky said, taking a step back.

“I was trying to get my boots off, so I don’t track mud into your living space.” Ramirez bit out flatly.

“Wouldn’t worry about it. It’ll be easier once you're sitting down and somewhere with better light.” He replied.

She surveyed him, her expression perfectly and completely even. “Why are you doing this, Barnes?”

“What?”

Ramirez snorted, shaking her head. “The man carries me down a goddamn mountain in the rain, and he asks what?” She muttered, rolling her eyes.

“I would’ve had a hard time explaining to Wilson, Rogers, and the Wakandans why I’d left you on the mountain during a thunderstorm.”

“I’d imagine that would be tricky.” Her voice practically dripped with sarcasm.

Which meant she still wasn’t convinced. Bucky didn’t know how to respond. “You helped me out of a tight spot once.” _Then I left you for dead. _He couldn’t help but add mentally. “I do owe you one.”

“Right. That.” The bitterness and anger in her voice were palpable. “I did say you don’t _owe_ me anything.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Really now?” Ramirez practically laughed.

“You took in a sick, starving, frightened man, and you lost everything. That warrants at the very least an apology and a bit of gratitude on my part.”

She dropped her head down, still trying to pry off her boots, muttering something under her breath.

Thunder rumbled, and the rain poured down even harder, and Bucky wanted nothing more than to head inside, dry off and put on a pot of coffee, but he knew that if he didn’t say what he needed to be said, now, there wouldn’t be another opportunity.

“I _am_ sorry, and I _am _grateful.” He paused, thinking about the letter, about what she’d said. Not just that he didn’t owe her anything, but also that she was a receptacle of knowledge and memory and that she could provide an explanation or elaboration upon request.

Did she feel obligated to him? Did she feel like she owed him that? Did she feel like because she’d spent two and a half years collecting information about him that she somehow was obligated to explain herself and her reasoning behind all of it? Did she feel like he didn’t owe her an apology for his actions? Just because he’d been brainwashed? Just because she’d been friends with his sister and Steve? He didn’t know, but he couldn’t let it stand.

“I know there’s nothing I can do that’s going to change the past or make up for what happened to you because of me. But you don’t owe me a goddamn thing, Ramirez. Not your time, energy, or your forgiveness, regardless of who I was to Becca, or who I am to Steve. I’ve taken up two and a half years of your life. You don’t owe me any more of it.”

Thunder rumbled, so loud that Bucky could feel it vibrate in his chest. Then there was silence. Had he overstepped? Had he said the wrong thing? He held his breath, waiting for her to respond.

After a moment, Ramirez stopped trying to pry her boot off, her hands pausing in their motion, and Bucky could swear that he saw her exhale, a long, slow, and massive breath as if she’d been holding it, locked up inside of her. Some of the tension eased from her shoulders, and her jawline smoothed somewhat.

“Any chance I could get you to help me with these boots, Barnes?” She said weakly, looking up at him. Her expression was still cool and calculated, but the lines that had previously creased her features had softened somewhat. “I think my ankle has swollen, and my hand is having a hell of a time with these clasps.”

Bucky nodded, “Let’s get inside. I’ll get you a towel, and I can work on the boots.”

“I still don’t want to track mud into your house, Barnes.”

“The floor is dirt. Mud isn’t a problem, Ramirez.”

Ramirez chuckled, this time not-unkindly, and nodded, “Alright, after you then.”

“You first.” He motioned with his hand.

She rolled her eyes, but nodded, limping into the hut in front of him.

Bucky followed cautiously behind her. “You can sit down anywhere. I’ll get a pot of coffee going, and find you something to dry off with.” He said, now suddenly aware of how small the living space in the hut was, particularly with another non-Steve person occupying it with him.

He and Steve were used to cramped quarters, but sharing that same space with a less familiar and likely hostile party was a little tricker. Looking up, he met Ramirez’s gaze. “It’s a little small, isn’t it?” She said knowingly.

“Yeah.” He nodded.

Ramirez’s eyes scanned the hut before she settled down by the entryway. “Not so bad for one person, but two people is a bit much.” She commented, as her hands resumed their work on her boots.

“You still want my help with boots?” Bucky asked.

“Well, now that you’ve mentioned coffee, I think I’d rather you focus your efforts there. These boots will come off eventually.” She said, gritting her teeth, her hands working the wet and mud-caked buckles of her boots.

Bucky nodded, and they both set about their tasks in silence. Or near silence, as Ramirez muttered and swore under her breath until the boots tugged off, followed by very wet socks.

“Yup. That’s swollen.” She cringed, poking gingerly at the inflamed joint.

“As soon as the rain lets up, I’ll get the village healer.”

“And Jelani’s tools.” She added.

“Huh?” He looked up at her from the coffee pot, which had just started bubbling.

“That _is_ why I ended up here if you recall.”

“Right.” He nodded. Stopping, He turned to the little side table and slipped on his Kimoyo bracelet. “Damn. I should wear this thing more.” He muttered as no less than fifteen messages appeared. “They’re about to send a search party out for you, Ms. Ramirez.” He said, addressing her curious gaze.

“Oh. Damn.”

“I’ll let them know that you’re with me, that you’re safe, and that you’ll be headed back as soon as the rain clears.”

“Much appreciated.”

Bucky nodded. Sending off the message, and he quietly poured two steaming mugs of coffee, aware that Ramirez was watching him intently. “How do you take it?” He asked.

“Black.” She answered. “Can I steal your blanket? I’m freezing.”

“Please. I’m sure the coffee will help too.” He replied, looking up, saw Ramirez dragging the boarder tribe blanket to her, wrapping it around herself before he handed over the mug of coffee.

She took it in both hands, her fingertips brushing his in the exchange. Looking down, she blew gently on the bitter black liquid before taking a sip. “It’s good.” She said, looking back up, met his gaze.

“I’m glad.”

Ramirez surveyed him. “How are you not freezing? Do you want me to close my eyes so you can change into something not completely soaking wet?” She inquired.

“I run a little warmer than most.” He paused. “Which I guess you already knew.” He added.

“Yeah.” She nodded in agreement, “I guess I did.”

There was a long award pause, as Bucky tried to figure out what to say next. His eyes drifted around the small hut, doing his best not to focus on Ramirez, and fell on the journals, stacked neatly on the side table beside her. “You were very thorough.” He said.

“What?”

He motioned with his chin to the journals.

“Oh. Right. That.” She said. “You’ve read them?”

The surprise in her voice took him aback. Did she think he hadn’t? That he wouldn’t? Well, he hadn’t exactly given her any indication that he’d read them, had he?

“Multiple times.”

“Really?” She said, again, surprise in her voice and on her features.

He nodded again.

“You must have questions.”

“As I said, you were very thorough.” He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask, a multitude of things, but at the given moment, he didn’t want to push his luck with Ramirez. Particularly since it appeared they were finally getting on slightly better terms than they’d been before.

Ramirez nodded, settling further into the folds of the blanket, took another sip of coffee. Something was at work behind her features as if she was trying to puzzle through a particularly tricky problem. “You must think all of this is strange.” She commented, motioning to the journals with the top of her head.

Bucky frowned, not entirely sure of her meaning.

“A dead woman helping your best friend track you down, and meticulously recording the whole thing?” 

“It’s not as strange as you might think, all things considered.” He couldn’t help but think of everything he’d learned about her when he’d thought she was dead. Though, he wasn’t ready to talk about that quite yet.

Ramirez nodded slowly, her eyes bright with curious intrigue. “How long have you known?”

“What?”

“That I wasn’t actually dead.”

“January.”

“How’d you figure it out?” She asked before taking another sip of the coffee.

“My sister’s obituary photograph. You were in one of the back rows.”

“So I was.” She nodded. “I was wondering if someone was going to figure that out.” Ramirez shook her head, “So you know that I knew your sister.”

“I’d gathered as much from the picture before Steve told me last week.”

“She was a wonderful woman.”

A pain twisted in Bucky’s chest, and he nodded. “Yeah, she certainly seemed like it.”

There was a long pause, both of them wrapped up in their thoughts as rain pounded against the roof of the hut.

“You must have some questions for me.”

“A few.” She replied.

“You can ask if you want. Though I can’t promise that I can answer all of them.”

Ramirez nodded, “I think that’s more than fair.” She paused, chewing on the inside of her mouth absently a moment she proceeded, her gaze focused on a point just behind him, and even further away than the human eye could comprehend. “When you were on the run, you saved several women from street harassment, attempted rape, and the like.”

“Yeah. I did.” He’d almost forgotten about that, and it was practically buried in her journals under everything else. “How’d you figure that out?”

“The internet is a wonderful place, Barnes.” She chuckled, shaking her head.

“But that wasn’t your question.”

“No.” Ramirez agreed, “It wasn’t.”

“And?”

“Why’d you do it? You were on the run, any one of those incidents could’ve tipped us off to where you were. Why bother?”

_Because of you,_ He would’ve said, but he had no idea how she would take that. But it was true. He’d left her to die at the hands of Hydra. He hadn’t wanted his inaction to cost anyone else their lives. It sounded stupid in his head, and that was where it was going to stay. “Because it was the right thing to do, and as you well know, I haven’t had many opportunities to chose to do the right thing in a while.”

“But even if it compromised you?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” She echoed but said nothing further.

“Is that all you wanted to know, Ms. Ramirez?” Bucky ventured after a moment.

“Mhhh, hmmm.” She murmured into her cup, with a slight nod.

“Why?”

Ramirez looked up at him, her dark eyes surveying him, and for the first time since they’d been reacquainted in Wakanda, Bucky got the feeling that she wasn’t looking at him unkindly. Not that he deserved her kindness or had earned it in any way, but it was a change, and subtle though it was, Bucky felt like he could breathe again, like he wasn’t holding his breath, waiting for calamity to strike.

“Trying to make out your character, Mr. Barnes.” She answered finally.

_And?_ He wanted to ask. _What have you found?_ But he knew better than that. If he’d thought her expression had been icy before, he could only imagine how much frostier it would be if he pushed her too far now.

“So you really don’t have any questions you want to ask me while I’m trapped here waiting for the rain to stop? Nothing you want to know?” She asked, disbelief tinging her tone, a near smile almost crossing her expression.

“I do have questions, but none that need to be answered right now.” He shook his head.

Bucky would like nothing more than to ask her the thousands of questions he had running through his head, just to get them out. But as she’d said, she was trapped here, injured, and very much at his mercy. He wouldn’t take advantage of that kind of situation, even if he wanted to.

“I understand.” Ramirez nodded, glancing down into her mug. “Well, it isn’t warm milk.” She murmured, chuckling to herself.,

“Huh?” He asked before he could stop himself.

Ramirez cleared her throat and looked back up at him, “Can I have some more coffee?”

“Yeah, sure.” He took her mug and poured her another cup.

_Warm milk._ It was something his mother had always done. Warm milk was the cure to a variety of ills if you asked Mrs. Winifred Barnes. Bucky hadn’t remembered that until now, but why Ramirez had mentioned it he didn’t know. “I could steam some milk if you want, it might help take the chill off.”

“Oh.” She blushed, looking back down into the steam coming up off the coffee. “No. That really won’t be necessary.”

Okay, _now_ Bucky had even more questions, but none that would be at all appropriate to ask. Had he said or done something to make her blush? What had she meant by “well, it isn’t warm milk?” Why did he feel like he was witnessing one side of a conversation that was simultaneously about him, yet had nothing to do with him at all. He didn’t know, but he did feel oddly relieved, somehow. She was sitting in his hut, drinking coffee, and they were having what could be considered a pleasant conversation. It was more than he could’ve hoped to expect, and unfortunately, it still felt like there was a catch. Like some dark cloud was looming over them, figuratively as well as literally.

Ramirez’s gaze had drifted back over to the journals, and fixated upon them. Something between nostalgia and pain crossed her features.

“You can have them back if you’d like.”

“What?” Her head turned so fast and so hard Bucky thought that she might have snapped her neck.

“Your journals. You can have them back. I know you put a lot of time. It has all the photos. If you want them back.” He said.

“No. That won’t be necessary.” She shook her head. “I want you to have them, Barnes. The journals, the photos, the letter, I gave it to you. I want you to keep them,” Ramirez paused. “It might help you reclaim some of what you lost.”

_Lost?_ Did she know that he’d lost the journals during the raid in Romania? Had Steve, the Princess, or the King told her? He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to ask at present. “If you’re sure.”

“If I never saw them again, it would be too soon.” She said.

“Understood.” Bucky nodded.

It didn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to figure out why she’d feel that way, but it was odd to him that she didn’t at least want the photographs of her and Becca back. But, she said she wanted him to have it, all of it. So he wouldn’t push her any further.

_Why her? Why of all people did she have to be the one to get dragged into all of this?_ Bucky wanted to ask. It didn’t make sense, and it certainly wasn’t fair, but he could rage at the universe about fairness all day, and it wouldn’t change anything. They could only deal with what they’d been given. All of the wishful thinking in the world wasn’t going to change anything.

“It looks like the rain is letting up," Ramirez commented after a long silence.

Bucky looked out the door and to the landscape beyond. It did indeed look like the rain was easing up, and the thunder and lightning seemed to have subsided completely. “How does your ankle feel?”

“Swollen. Probably sprained.” She answered grimly.

“All right.” he nodded, rising to his feet. “I’ll go get the healer, and then get the tools that Omondi borrowed from Jelani so you can get on your way.”

Ramirez watched silently as Bucky put his shoes back on, and he was nearly out the door when she spoke. “Barnes?”

“Yeah?” He stopped mid-stride and looked down at her.

“Thank you. For carrying me out of the jungle. I do appreciate not being left in the middle of the storm, despite what I said earlier.”

“I understand,” Bucky paused. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to ask. Would this be the last and only time he would get the chance to ask? Or would they get another opportunity? He didn’t know, but he had gotten the most important thing out, he had apologized and said thank you, that at very least was something. If he only had one chance, he would be thankful he’d gotten to say that at the very least.

Blinking, he realized that Ramirez was still watching him expectantly. “I’ll be right back," he said shortly. Then without another word, he walked from the hut and out into the last remnants of the dying storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how about that huh? They are finally talking (ish) to each other like actual adults! I can't even tell you how many iterations of this scene I went through (I really wanted them to get into a shouting match Pride & Prejudice 2005 style) but ultimately thought this worked better. I hope this relieves some of the tension I know you guys were feeling. We're finally getting out of the petty stage and into the "maybe we can talk to each other" phase of things, which I find to be very very exciting! Anyone catch the call back to pt. 2? That made me giggle and I wrote it! (Believe it or not, everything has a purpose :) more or less).
> 
> A big shout out to all those who've commented (and left Kudos) thus far you're angels and doing the lords work thank you! You make what I do all that more rewarding and I smile every time I receive a notification. As always, I look forward to hearing what you think, and I'll see you all back here next week. Can't wait to share with you what's in store! Happy Reading!
> 
> For those who are interested, I'm starting a behind the scenes/methods blog and will be posting rough drafts, and the story of how this fic has taken the shape it has. This is the link to the first post if you're interested. https://spacecasewriter13.tumblr.com/post/188608098470/where-to-start-but-at-the-beginning.


	6. Terms and Conditions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don't Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear' and is Part III of IV of my "Find Your Way Home" Series. So if you're confused, that's why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: This Land by Hans Zimmer; Wakanda by Ludwig Goransson; Fly Away by Lenny Kravitz; Here I am by Bryan Adams
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=ZDKnpknITtmGOffKwK5SkQ

The sun was warm and bright, and Maggie found herself sprawled out on her back, soaking up the warmth from under the shade of one of the many trees clustered around Jelani’s workshop.

It was lunchtime, and Jelani had all but forbidden her from doing any work between the hours of noon and two. So she’d brought her heavy plainsmen blanket, her frozen mango cubes (along with the rest of her lunch), and her water-skin so she could lay out in the shade in comfort as she watched the clouds roll by through the branches of the tree.

She was trying to practice some quiet mindfulness, even as she kept her ears open for the sound of a mule led feed delivery cart.

It was Tuesday, and it had been four days since her wet trek through the jungle with James Barnes. Their subsequent conversation was replaying on loop in her head as she tried to understand what had happened and what the hell she was going to do now.

Maggie squeezed her eyes shut. She was exhausted, she’d been exhausted for a long time. Perhaps now that she had gotten this thing over with between her and Barnes she could rest.

But it really hadn’t been settled had it? He’d apologized and acknowledged what she’d been through. He’d told her that she didn’t owe him anything. That was everything that she’d convinced herself she wanted. That should be the end of it. The operative word, of course, being _should._

Only it wasn’t. It might have been if James Barnes had been the cold, heartless bastard she’d built him up to be in her mind.

In all fairness to her, she had been in the Winter Soldier Trenches for the last two years, and yeah, after the guy failed to materialize at his sister’s death bed, she’d formed some opinions. Never mind all of the horrible shit that had happened to her because of him.

But that hadn’t been his fault, and she’d tried to remind herself of that. He was a victim of Hydra. Yet, somehow, in all the anger and pain and sheer frustration that reminder, that truth had been obscured, and her brain had transformed Barnes into the convenient scapegoat.

Then he hadn’t been the heartless bastard she’d built him up to be in her mind. He was by no means the Romeo she’d built up in her mind before Becca’s death _either. _He was simply an unknown entity, and Maggie’s experience on the mountain had made her realize that she had both severely misjudged James Barnes and been tremendously unfair to both of them.

It was surprising to admit, and no one was more surprised than she was. She’d gone from irate to ambivalent in less than three weeks, and now she was waiting to see what would happen next.

Maggie opened her eyes and rolled onto her side. Picking up a mango cube from the little dish she’d brought with her, and popped it in her mouth chewing thoughtfully. She couldn’t help but think about what he’d said.

_You don’t owe me a goddamn thing...I’ve taken up two and a half years of your life. You don’t owe me any more of it._

The bastard had used her own words against her. Maggie wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She didn’t know how to feel about any of it, but she did know that she wanted to talk to Barnes.

That, she knew, was because of Becca. She also knew that Becca was part of the reason she’d been so angry, part of the reason she was still hesitant to talk to Barnes, and part of the reason she still _wanted_ to talk to Barnes. She knew that she didn’t _owe_ Barnes an explanation. It was that she’d been given the memory of James Barnes, Becca’s memory of James Barnes so that Maggie could give him the message from his sister.

_Your family did not forget you, and they loved you very much._

When Becca had told her that, Maggie had been willing to do exactly that for her friend, a woman that Maggie had loved with all of her heat. She’d wanted nothing more than to carry the memory of her friend’s older brother and carry her final message to him. Only then her head had been filled with fantastical accounts from the seventy-year-old memory of the man’s youngest sister. She hadn’t crossed the point of no return yet, hadn’t dug through the Winter Soldier’s history yet, hadn’t seen the chair and cryo-chamber in Argentina yet. Hadn’t witnessed, and read, and then dealt with the subsequent fall out of everything that had been perpetrated against and by the Winter Soldier.

Now she had. Now she had come face to face with the man that remained from those experiences. Now she was left to figure all of this out, and didn’t have the damndest clue how to honor her friend’s dying request.

Did Barnes want to talk to her about his sister? She knew now that he knew they were friends, that they’d been close while Maggie had been on the hunt for him. Was he as protective of Becca as she was? The only way to find out was to ask, and the only way she was going to be able to do that was when he showed up for feed delivery.

“Heyi, Cowgirl!" Maggie jerked into a sitting position at the sound of Jelani’s approach.

“Sir?”

The older man chuckled, shaking his head. “You can call me Jelani.” He said, stopping at the foot of her blanket. “How long has it been since you’ve been on a horse.”

“Years, sir, uhhh, Jelani.”

“That’s no good. Clean up your stuff and meet me by the paddock.” Maggie opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “You need to be in a Wakandan saddle, on a Wakandan horse before you shod any of my horses.”

Maggie couldn’t argue with that. She nodded and rose to her feet, collecting and packing away her things. Stowing them in the shop out of the way, she followed Jelani over to the paddock where there were two horses tied, saddled, and waiting for them.

“Pick whichever you like.” He said, motioning to the horses.

Maggie paused. Was this a test? It felt like a test. She glanced at Jelani and then at the horses before ducking between the fence slats and entering the paddock.

It was familiar, although it had been forever since she’d done this. With her herd back on Last Chance, they’d known what she was going to do before she did. Now, with these horses, in this place, she was dealing with unknown entities.

_Seems to be a lot of that going around._

She stopped before she reached the horses, exhaling a long deep breath. Horses were good therapy animals for a reason, and she was about to have a very intense session if she didn’t check herself.

_Check your emotions, or the horse will do it for you._ She could practically hear herself say to one of her clients.

God, she missed them, she missed that part of running the ranch. She missed helping people, missed facilitating the deep relationship that many of her clients formed with the ranch horses. She missed it. Missed the community, missed her animals, missed the feeling of accomplishment.

“You okay, Cowgirl?” Jelani’s voice pulled her back.

“Yeah, sorry,” Maggie said, blinking she shook her head before she approached.

She did a quick but thorough evaluation of the horses, checking their hooves, flanks, mouths, and teeth, as well as surveying the tack. Stepping back, she put her hands on her hips and frowned, “Huh.”

“What is it, Cowgirl?”

“What’s the catch?”

“I don’t believe I understand.”

“This is a test, isn’t it?”

Jelani looked her over, “You think this is a test?”

What was she supposed to say? She thought it was a test, what other reason would there be for such an ordeal. “Yes.”

He nodded, his expression giving nothing away. “Choose a horse, Cowgirl.”

“Right.” She nodded. If it was a test, Jelani was going to keep it to himself. She turned to the two horses. One was a mare. One was a stallion. Both were brown with white markings. Functionally there wasn’t a lick of difference between them. However, the mare had a calm sort of energy about her and a white spot that looked like a star between her eyes that made Maggie smile.

Approaching the horse, she extended her hand before gently rubbing the horse’s head and nose. “What’s her name?” Maggie asked absently as she untied the mare from the paddock fence.

“They don’t have names," Jelani said as he entered the paddock and untied the stallion.

“Is that some kind of Wakandan naming convention I should be aware of?” She inquired, glancing over at him.

“No. We let their first owners give them their names.” Jelani replied. “What do you think you’ll name them?”

Maggie paused as the words sunk in, opening and closing her mouth like a fish out water until she managed a simple “What?”

Jelani chuckled, leading the stallion from the paddock. “The King wanted to ensure you had a horse of your own to use for the duration of your stay. In honor of your name day, he instructed me to select two for you as a gift. Both as a birthday present and to welcome you into our community.”

“You mean.” Maggie stammered, glancing between Jelani and the two horses. “These are _my _horses?”

“Yes. You may stable them with my herd, but they are yours to do with as you please.” Jelani nodded.

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” She said, her mind spinning.

The King, the King of Wakanda, had given her a pair of horses for her birthday? There was a lot to unpack just in that one sentence. First of all, what day was it? She hadn’t been keeping track, and apparently, her 33rd birthday had come and gone without thought or comment. Second of all, holy shit, she’d just been given two beautiful horses, and tack apparently, by the reigning monarch of a country that she would have been hard-pressed to place on a map two months ago. She didn’t know how she should respond.

“Put them to good use," Jelani replied, as he mounted the stallion with a grace and ease that she wouldn’t have expected from the man. “Come on. We’re going for a ride. We won’t be gone long.”

Nodding wordlessly, she adjusted the stirrups and climbed into the saddle. The front and back of the wooden saddle were higher than she was used to, but it was comfortable, and the fit was good.

“We’ll ride single file until we get to the grassland just over the next hill, then we’ll see what you’re made of," Jelani said, before urging his mount into a brusque walk, and Maggie followed behind.

They rode in silence as she and the horse became acquainted. The horse was tremendously well trained, and hyper responses to Maggie’s commands, to the point she was almost convinced she could’ve controlled the horse without the use of the reigns at all.

Walking at a leisurely pace, Maggie leaned into the rhythm of the horse’s gait and could feel as the tension started to slip from her body.

She’d missed this. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this. That last six months on the ranch she hadn’t gotten on a horse, just out of time and necessity, then she’d been in hiding, or on the run for the last two and a half years. It had been nearly three years since she’d been on a horse, which for someone who had spent a sizable portion of their life in the saddle felt like an eternity.

The sky was clear and a nearly impossible shade of blue, and white cotton candy clouds drifted slowly by while the warm wind cooled Maggie’s sun-kissed skin. Leaning her head back, she exhaled, a huge smile across her face. She might be halfway around the world, in a country that was not her own, in a place not of her choosing, but on the back of this horse, it felt like going home, and she felt more like herself than she had since Riley had died.

“My King tells me you competed in the Charreada," Jelani commented, pulling Maggie back to the present.

“Some. Yes. When I was very young.” She answered, picking up the pace to ride side by side with him as they left the narrow trail and the rolling plains spread out before them. “Mostly, I helped my family with our cattle growing up, but that’s been well over a decade as well.”

“Well, we do not do most of that there. I will have to teach you how we heard our animals and handle our horses.” Jelani replied.

“I look forward to learning something new.” She answered.

“Good. Let’s see what you can do.” Jelani commented with a wink. “Do try to keep up, Cowgirl.” Without another word, he took off, and Maggie followed after, urging the horse into a gallop.

Following Jelani around the field, they weaved and turned, stopping and starting, slowing down and speeding up, testing her horsemanship. Jelani was a phenomenal horseman, and as it had been three years since she’d even been on a horse, her own horsemanship was rusty and paled in comparison. Fortunately, her horse was well trained and was able to correct and compensate for her inadequacies.

“Not bad for your first time on a horse in years.” Jelani laughed as they slowed to a walk.

The horses were breathing hard, but Maggie was breathing even harder. She nodded, laughing weakly.

“How do you feel?”

“Good. I feel good.” She managed.

“Good.” He smiled, “Now, let's get back. We should make it just in time for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Maggie echoed. How long had they been out here? She’d lost track of time. _Shit the feed delivery._

“Indeed. You will come and have dinner with my family and me, won’t you?” Jelani commented.

“Of course. I would be honored.” Maggie heard herself respond, but she was still miles away. 

She’d missed Barnes. She’d missed her opportunity to talk to him and to apologize for her previous behavior. She hadn’t even really told him "thank you" for dragging her out of the rain.

“There is a midwinter festival in a few weeks. Do you think with a bit of training, you would be able to help us move cattle and other livestock?” Jelani inquired as they started back toward the village.

“I would be happy to.”

“Good. You will make a good student, and an even better horsewoman once we get you trained up a little bit.” He cracked a wry smile.

Maggie might have risen to the bait, but she knew when she was being ribbed, particularly by older men who wanted to give her a hard time about something unimportant. She smiled and nodded, “With any sort of luck.”

“We should get back. We don’t want Tee to think that I’m misusing you.” Jelani commented as he started them back in the direction they’d come.

It had been a glorious afternoon that had certainly gotten Maggie out of her head and back in the saddle, literally and figuratively speaking. But she’d missed an opportunity to talk to Barnes. She wanted to try to set things right so that she could get him out of her head, and put this whole retched affair behind them. Now, it would be yet another week before she’d get that chance, and with everything going on, a week seemed like a lifetime away.

Yet, as they rode back and Maggie thought through what she and Jelani had done, and what Jelani had proposed, thoughts of Barnes melted away as she thought about her new task, her new goal. She was going to help Jelani and his team move cattle and other livestock during the midwinter festival. That was something to work toward. She had a purpose, and she had a goal, and she got to be back on a horse. There was certainly a lot that could happen between now and then, but for the first time in a while, she felt a little bit like her old self again. And that was worth missing a chance to settle this thing with Barnes. It had waited two and a half years. It could wait a little bit longer.

-

Bucky awoke with a start. An occurrence so familiar he almost didn’t notice that his whole body was shaking. He’d had that dream again. The one where everyone was dead, the one where everyone was dead, and it was his fault. The walls of his hut were closing in on him again. So he rose from his bed and stepped into the night. It was a new moon, and the stars glittered across the sky, so bright and vibrant, you could see the arm of the Milky Way galaxy. He inhaled deeply.

The night air was cool, and a gentle breeze made the grass and the trees sway this way and that.

_Safe. You’re safe. _He repeated over and over to himself like a mantra. But it wasn’t working, not tonight, not right now.

Bucky exhaled, running his fingers through his hair, and started walking, his feet carrying him along one of the familiar goat paths.

It had been a quiet day. He’d looked after his goats, gone on his normal route with the feed, he’d made himself dinner, read some before he’d fallen asleep early although his mind and his PTSD had apparently had other plans.

_Progress would be slow._ Shuri had warned him. _I can remove the hydra programming, but the memories and their trauma will still be there._

He hadn’t expected any less. He hadn’t wanted anything less. He’d wanted his memory back, and he wanted to remember, and now he remembered everything, and he would have to deal with the consequences. The consequences, of course, being flashbacks, nightmares, paranoia, anxiety, and a whole host of other things that he’d never imagined were possible to cohabitate in a single human being.

His mind was reeling, and his feet carried him through the Wakandan countryside. While he was aware of his surroundings, from the crunch of dirt, twigs, grass, and gravel underfoot to the sound of the wind whistling through the trees, he didn’t particularly care where he ended up. All he knew was he needed to walk and walk and walk until he outpaced the speed of his thoughts, or until exhaustion did the work for him.

He paused at the sound of someone humming, putting him immediately on edge. His eyes scanned the perimeter, his mind finally catching up to where his feet had led him. He was now nearly three miles over the hill and toward the horse village. Why he’d decided to head that way he didn’t know, but he glanced around, unable to identify precisely where the humming was coming from.

“Down here, Barnes.”

“Ramirez?” He lowered his eye line and found her sitting in the grass.

“Hi.” She said as they made eye contact.

“Hi.” He echoed. Glancing around, he realized he was actually no more than two hundred yards from her hut and the horse village. Of all the places in Wakanda, his feet had brought him to practically Ramirez’s front door. _Why?_

He’d expected to see her today during the feed delivery. Only she’d been out on an errand with Jelani. At the very least, that’s what Sisay had told him. They hadn’t spoken since he’d hauled her down the mountain. He’d tried not to think about her. He’d mostly succeeded. It had been a busy few days since their misadventure. Yet, the questions he had were still with him, still rattling around in his overfilled brain. For him, while the whole question of Ramirez was a difficult and somewhat painful subject, it was easier for him to think through those things than it was to deal with any number of others.

“Sorry I missed you today," Ramirez commented.

“Sisay said you were out on an errand.”

“Jelani was getting me acquainted with Wakandan horsemanship.”

“Sounds like fun.” He offered uncertainly.

“It was, but I did want to talk to you.”

_She wanted to talk to me? _Bucky hesitated, uncertain of how to respond. _“Why?” _Seemed a little too direct at the moment, but with his head pounding and his mind still racing, he was drawing a blank.

As if sensing this, Ramirez took pity and continued, “I wanted to say thank you for what you did the other day and apologize for withholding information.”

_Withholding information? _She’d written out three journals, detailing everything she’d learned, and written a letter giving him a blank check to ask whatever the hell he wanted, and she was apologizing for withholding information? What did that mean? What could it mean? Bucky didn’t know, so he focused on the first part. “You wanted to say thank you?” He could hear the disbelief in his voice. “For what?”

“You got me out of a dangerous situation when I was less than gracious about the entire thing. You could’ve just let me wander around the Wakandan countryside lost until someone else found me, or for that matter could’ve left my ungracious ass on the mountainside when I slipped and sprained my ankle. So thank you for not doing any of those things.” She paused a moment. “All mitigating circumstances of our history aside, you didn’t owe me that, and I am grateful.”

“It seemed wrong to do otherwise, regardless of who it was.” Which he felt was mostly true. He would’ve done that for anyone. It was just doubly true because it was her.

Ramirez nodded, “I appreciate it, Barnes.” She held his gaze a moment before looking down and away, chewing on the corner of her mouth. She appeared to be debating with herself, although what she was debating, he didn’t know. After a moment, she reached a consensus and looked back up at him. “I have a message from your sister.”

So that’s what she’d meant about withholding information. Bucky could feel his heart race, pounding loudly in his throat as his stomach twisted into knots. “Okay.” He searched her expression as eagerly as she searched his.

“She wanted you to know that she never forgot you that your family never forgot you and that they love you very much.” She said slowly. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner. I wasn’t sure if I could or if I should. What happened Friday, made me realize that it wasn’t my place to decide that. I certainly don’t owe you anything, but I did owe my friend the dignity of delivering her final message to her brother.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. Why had Ramirez kept that out of her letter? Why hadn’t she told him immediately?

Then a thought occurred. Ramirez hadn’t known if he deserved Becca’s message if he was worthy of it. After all, she’d delved into the world of the Winter Soldier, and everything that he’d done after his sister had died. “Did my sister know?” Bucky managed, “Did she know what I’d become?”

Maggie exhaled slowly, breaking his gaze, she put her head down, her hands fidgeting with a chain around her neck. “You wanna sit down, Barnes?” She asked, glancing back up at him. “I’ll tell you what you wanna know, but there’s a lot of it.”

Bucky was being offered answers. He didn’t actually think he’d get answers, that he deserved answers after all of it. Now, after everything she’d been through because of him, Ramirez was once again offering them to him freely.

Ramirez said nothing a moment, waiting for him to make his decision before she nodded, took a deep breath, and began. “Your sister did ask about you. Becca saw you on the news, as the Winter Soldier, after the hellicarriers went down in D.C., and then after Steve showed up and said that he’d seen you, she was able to put two and two together. Steve wouldn’t give her details, wouldn’t talk about it. He wouldn’t talk about you with anyone, me, Sam, Becca, anyone. It was just too painful. It was one of the reasons that he introduced me to your sister, I think. At first, I asked a lot of questions about you, who you were as a person, before 1945, since I couldn’t get that information out of Steve.” She shook her head.

“You wanted to get a better picture of who you were looking for.” He interjected.

Ramirez nodded. “Yeah. And Becca was happy to oblige. We talked a lot about you in those first months. But then she wanted to know what had happened to you. She knew something terrible had happened to you, and she wanted to know how much of her brother was left to save.”

Bucky flinched. He hadn’t meant to, and nothing in Ramirez’s voice had been harsh or cold, but hearing that Becca had asked how much of her brother was left to save hurt. Hurt in a way that he hadn’t expected that it would. Somehow even Becca had known something terrible had happened to him. “So, what did you say?” He asked shortly.

“I told her the truth about what I had seen while you were on the ranch with me. That I could sense you were dangerous and capable of hurting me, but that I never felt afraid. I knew I should have been, perhaps that it might have spared me and ranch everything that I’ve gone through since then, but I knew that as much as you were a danger to me, you were more of a danger to yourself.” Ramirez chuckled weakly. “All of that seems so long ago. But I still remember how adamant you were about fixing the roof, and that you stuck your neck out for me with Roberts, and helped around the ranch when you didn’t have to, when in fact it was a detriment to you.” She shook her head. “I told your sister there was something compassionate about you, about the man that I had seen in my barn, that although you were scary and capable of tremendous violence, there was something worth trying to help still left in you.”

A rush of feeling washed over him, grief, shock, relief, and pain mixed into one. After everything she’d been through, Ramirez had told his sister there was something worth trying to help still left in him. “You told her that?” Bucky asked weakly.

“I did.”

“Did you believe it?”

“At the time, yes.” She answered.

“And now?”

“It depends on the day," Ramirez admitted with a shrug. “But I think that’s more of a me thing than a you thing if I’m honest.”

There it was, the anger, the fury, the feelings and the person that Bucky had expected to find when he’d seen her that day she’d given him the journals. “You have more than enough reason to hate me, Ramirez.”

“You know, I really wanted to hate you.” She paused, “Are you sure you don’t wanna sit down? This seems really strange having this conversation with me sitting on the ground and you standing like twenty feet away. I promise I won’t bite.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“I wouldn’t consider it an intrusion. I did invite you to sit down. Twice, now.”

Bucky hesitated, “Why are you telling me any of this?”

“Because I want to.” She said. “And because I want to know.”

“Know what?”

“If any of this was worth it.”

_If her sacrifice had been worth it._ Bucky couldn’t help but notice what she hadn’t said. He took a couple of halting steps toward her. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I don’t think we’re going to get a better chance to sit and talk this through than in the middle of a field at two in the morning. If we’re going to live and work in close proximity, we should try to resolve _this, _whatever _this _is so we can move on with our lives.”

He nodded but said nothing as he crossed the distance between them, and sunk down on the far corner of her blanket. There was a pause, and the sounds of the night edged in around them, the wind, the rustle of the grass, the sound of animals and bugs taking up space in the night. “Why are you out here, Ramirez?”

“Couldn’t sleep, you?”

“Same.”

Ramirez surveyed him a moment, and he was almost sure she was going to call him out. Instead, she just nodded before glancing up at the multitude of stars overhead. “Thought I might try to stargaze until I realized that I didn’t have a proper star map and that it had been years since I’d been stargazing properly. But it was nice to get out of the hut and into the open air for a bit.” She stayed quiet a moment, her eyes scanning the night sky, with its endless depths before she looked back down and over at him. “So. What do you wanna know, Barnes?”

_What didn't he want to know? _A thousand questions were swirling in his brain. Mercifully he was able to latch onto one and put it into coherent words. “Why’d you do it? Decide to help Steve look for me?”

Ramirez paused, taking in the question, mulling over her answer, before slowly, she began. “At first? It was because I wanted to go home. Steve and Sam and the Avengers had me declared dead so that Hydra wouldn’t keep trying to come after me. I figured the faster I found you, the faster I could go home.” She paused, wincing to herself. “And then I found out Becca was dying. At that point, I think I’d more or less realized I wasn’t going to get to go home any time soon, but that if I worked my ass off, uncovered enough clues, found enough bread crumbs that I could get her brother back, and you would get to say goodbye and have closure, in a way that I never got.” Ramirez shook her head.

“With your brother, Antonio.” It slipped out before he could stop it, and Ramirez turned to look at him, her expression creased in confusion as she looked him over.

“Yes," Ramirez said slowly, skepticism in her voice. “You’ve done research on me, haven’t you?”

“I did.” He replied, bracing for the anger, for the indignation and hurt to cross her face. Instead, relief, passed over her face, nearing an all-out smile. “What?”

“It really isn’t as strange as I might think, all things considered.” She said, echoing what he’d told her only four days before.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I did a bit of research while I was on the run, of all of the Winter---all of my victims. People I’d killed for Hydra.”

“Only you didn’t kill me.”

“No. But I left you for dead.”

“Oh.” She frowned, “I mean. Yeah. I guess you did. But if it’s any small consolation, that’s not how I saw it.”

“And how did you see it?”

“You were frightened, and you warned me that I was in danger. I feel like had you just up and left without at least giving me warning that Hydra and that bag of dicks were headed toward me, then yeah, that would’ve been leaving me for dead.”

“So, that’s not why you wanted to hate me?”

“No. No. I wanted to hate you for the subsequent ways that your presence on my ranch ruined my life, and how it got me involved in the hunt for you, but when it came down to it, it was and is actually a “me” problem rather than a “you” problem.” She paused. “Sorry, not to circle back around to this, but you did research on me? What were you looking for? What did you find out?” There was a mix of horror and amusement in her voice.

“Just what the internet could provide.” He answered lamely.

Ramirez looked him over, opened her mouth to speak, hesitated before proceeding anyway. “Did you happen to write all this down?”

“Yeah. The journals were confiscated by the U.N.; otherwise, I would hand over what I wrote about you.” He said.

“That would explain why the international community took an interest.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I appreciate the gesture Barnes, but bad quinceanera photos and family home videos aren’t exactly medical history and a kill list.”

It took everything he had to keep from flinching at her words, but it wasn't like she was wrong. Still, Bucky knew he needed to say something. “Doesn’t make it any less personal.”

Ramirez took a moment to contemplate this before she answered. “True.” She agreed.

“I do appreciate the measures you took to make my information as secure as possible," Bucky commented slowly. “I take it, Romanoff trained you.”

“She did.” Ramirez nodded. “Though not the same way that you trained her in the Red Room.”

“She tell you that?” Bucky could hear the incredulity in his voice. It didn't sound like 'Tasha to tell Ramirez about their history together, but then again Ramirez had broken more precedents than he could keep track of. Whatever her answer, it would be novel either way.

“I figured it out. She confirmed.”

“So you know you spent two years hanging out with two of my former...” He sought for the right word and came up blank.

“Details didn’t come up. I suspected mostly with Natasha until she confirmed it for me. Steve was evasive as best, but I figured that was because he was hurting, and finding you were going to be the only way he could heal from that hurt. They didn’t volunteer information, and so I didn’t dig. It didn’t seem important to our mission of bringing you home. Which is why it doesn’t appear in the journals, amongst other things.” Ramirez paused. “But I think their perspective was important to how I understood you or understood who you might be.” She said slowly. “The James Barnes that each of them knew was different, very different, but they all said the same thing. They all said that you were a good man.” Ramirez shook her head. “It’s probably why I kept at it as long as I did; it felt like it would be worth it in the end.”

“Was it?”

Ramirez chuckled, shaking her head she flexed her left hand before rubbing it gingerly with her right, “I don’t know. I think I’m too close to the situation to be able to say for sure, at least right now.” She glanced up at him, “Sorry that I don’t have a better answer. Ask me in six months to two years. I’ll have a better answer then.”

Bucky nodded, and there was a long pause as he tried to find the right words to express everything that was going through his head. He’d ruined this woman’s life, and now, even after everything that had happened to her, and after everything she’d learned about him, about what he’d done, still had it within herself to not hate him. “You should hate me.”

“Probably, and I did want to, I tried, Barnes, trust me.” She said after a moment. “It just ultimately wasn’t a productive use of my time. Why would that make it easier?”

“Easier?”

“I dunno. Sometimes it’s an easier emotion to quantify.” She shrugged.

Perhaps it would make it easier, knowing there was someone out there who hated him more than he hated himself. There certainly were plenty of contenders, but none quite as convenient as Magdalene Ramirez. However, as she had said, hatred was an easier emotion to quantify than anything they’d talked about this evening. Hatred would be easier to understand. Hatred would be easier to overcome. Whatever she felt, it was more complicated than that.

_Ask me in six months to two years._

He would laugh if it weren’t true. They were stuck with one another for the duration, and what that meant remained to be seen. However, now it felt they were on slightly surer footing than they’d been only three weeks ago when she’d first arrived. “So, what do you want?” Bucky asked.

“Want?” She echoed.

“Out of our future interactions.” He said slowly. “If you never want to speak to me again, I understand.”

“Oh.” Ramirez paused, frowning, she thought this over before proceeding. “I’d like to be able to talk to you about Becca if that’s something you’d be interested in.” She said. “I know that if there is anything I don’t regret about the last two and a half years, it’s getting to know your sister for the short time that I did. I’d like to be able to share that, share her with you.”

Bucky could feel his chest ache at the mention of Becca, and the friendship that she and Ramirez hard formed. He was jealous, of that time, of that opportunity, of that chance. Yet it sounded like Becca was probably the only thing standing between him and Ramirez's outright hatred. The fact that Ramirez wanted to talk about his sister, talk about his sister with him, that was an opportunity worth its weight in vibranium, or gold, take your pick. “I’d like that.” Bucky nodded.

“Me too.” Ramirez started a smile that transformed itself into a massive yawn. “Damn.” She shook her head, glancing at her Kimoyo bracelet. “I’m afraid that’s going to have to wait for another time.”

“Yeah, I should get back.” Bucky agreed, rising to his feet, he watched as Ramirez collected the blanket and rose to hers.

“It’s going be a long day tomorrow I need to try to get some rest,” She paused, looking him over uncertainly. “If you ever can’t sleep Barnes, or you wanna talk about Becca, I haven’t been sleeping well. I don’t mind the company. Even yours.”

“Thanks?”

“No problem.” She laughed. Shaking the blanket out, Ramirez folded it carefully and then turned to him. “Well, goodnight! Get back to your place safe.”

“Thanks. Night.” He replied, turning he started walking away, only vaguely aware that he was being watched by Ramirez as he walked over the hill and out of her line of sight.

His mind was still spinning; the blood and screaming and horror were never far away. Yet, for a brief moment, as he paused, looking out over the lake just outside of his hut, he felt relief and felt peace. He’d gotten answers to some of his questions, and he would continue to get answers as he and Ramirez talked about Becca. What tomorrow would bring, he didn’t know but riding the tailwind of his conversation with Ramirez. He knew he’d be able to find a little bit a rest with the little bit of certainty that she had provided him. Becca had remembered him, knew what he was, and had still loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! A slower chapter compared to the last few, but finally, these two jerks are talking to one another! Nothing but good things in store for the next few chapters (I promise!)
> 
> As Always, comments, kudos, and anything and everything in between is welcome and appreciated! Be sure to check out my blog for behind the scenes on this fic, and on writing, and screaming about writing. https://spacecasewriter13.tumblr.com/post/188608098470/where-to-start-but-at-the-beginning
> 
> I'll be posting new content periodically (but always and forever my priority is this [at least from the fandom side of things]) so it won't be as consistent!
> 
> Happy Halloween for those who celebrate! Otherwise, happy reading to all!


	7. Heyi Cowgirl!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don't Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear' and is Part III of IV of my "Find Your Way Home" Series. So if you're confused, that's why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: Rhinestone Cowboy by Glen Campbell; Good Ride Cowboy by Dylan Miller; Hoedown by Emerson, Lake, and Palmer; How ‘Bout them Cowgirls by George Strait
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/1253302637/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=Cgp7xBCGQZuheZ-gveipaw

Bucky liked peopled watching. He’d always been particularly observant. It had saved his skin more than once, before and after Hydra as a means of survival. However, in Wakanda, he found himself as an observer in a way he’d never experienced before. Rather than being one of the faces in the crowd, he found that people smiled and greeted him, their eyes always watchful and curious. They didn’t bother him, but he knew he was being watched. Still, people watched him, and he watched them back. It was The Midwinter Festival, which Bucky had been told, was the event of the year. The kids had practically dragged him to the festival grounds, even though he didn’t have livestock or produce to sell. It was nice, however, to listen to the sounds of Wakandans living their lives and mostly taking no mind of the stranger amongst them.

He scanned the crowds, looking for one person in particular. He knew he shouldn’t be looking for her, she was probably busy out with the horses, doing whatever it was that she was doing with Jelani, but still, he rather hoped that he would be able to see her at some point when they both weren’t supposed to be working.

It had been three weeks since he’d walked to the Horse village in the middle of the night, and they’d had their conversation. Every Tuesday since then, they’d spent their lunch hour talking about Becca. That first Tuesday had been awkward, but after that, he’d started looking forward to their lunchtime discussions. It was a welcome break from being trapped inside his own head, and they both had a lot to say and ask about his sister.

For his part, he was curious about the type of woman Becca had become, and the family she’d left behind. Ramirez wanted to know what she was like growing up. To keep things fair, they both got thirty minutes to ask and have their questions answered. Which, depending on how in-depth their questions were meant they only got to or three questions per lunch hour.

Yes, it was an imperfect system, but for them, it seemed to work. Things were still tense, but since Ramirez had told him that she wanted to talk about Becca, some of the tension had subsided substantially. Part of this was because they avoided any topic or thread of conversation that linked back to their and their history. Whether by unspoken rule or happy coincidence, they hadn’t ventured into awkward territory.

Still, Bucky was curious about Ramirez and was eager to see if she would want to talk with him outside of their allotted lunchtime.

“Heyi, White wolf.” Bucky started, turning to see his neighbor Omondi approaching.

“Elder Omondi.” He nodded in response.

A short, rail-thin Wakandan man with long white dreads, Omondi was the eldest chief of the village where he was staying and had volunteered to take him in as his sponsor when Shuri had brought him out into the countryside shortly after she’d thawed him out. So he was Bucky’s neighbor, sponsor, and functionally his boss, which made all of their interactions strange in a way that Bucky couldn’t quite define.

“That’s just Omondi to you.” The man corrected as he approached. “You really should start wearing your Kimoyo bracelet while you’re out.” He scolded, taking his walking stick up in both hands.

“Why’s that?”

“The royal family have been trying to get a hold of you.”

“What? Why?” His mind began to spin. What had happened? Was it Steve? Had something terrible happened? Was he hurt? Killed?

“They wanted you to eat lunch with them in honor of the festival. You were due there twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh.” He breathed, as his heart stopped pounding quite as quickly. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Do you know the way?”

“I don’t.”

“Then, I will show you.” Before Bucky could manage a “thank you," Omondi set off toward the center of the festival, weaving this way and that way through the throngs of people that had come to the celebration. Bucky followed after, aware of how the crowds seemed to part before them.

“So, you came!” Omondi commented cordially as they walked.

“The kids wouldn’t have forgiven me if I hadn’t. He replied. It wasn’t a total lie, only a lie through omission.

“Well, good. They should bully you more often. The festival is one of the great Wakandan traditions. No one should miss out on seeing it.” he paused as they took a sharp turn before continuing his questions. “How have you liked Wakanda?”

“It’s been nice. Quiet. It’s very peaceful here.” Bucky answered.

“I am glad to hear White Boy. You have been a very good neighbor.” Omondi commented.

“You and your village have been very good to me.” Bucky replied, “I don’t know how I can ever repay your kindness.”

“You should not spend so much time alone. It is not healthy. You carry a heavyweight from the life you have led. It is not a crime to allow others to help you with its weight.” Omondi said. “A friend would be good for you, and who knows, maybe in return, you’ll be able to share their load with them too.”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it. The man wasn’t wrong. He did spend a lot of time by himself and for a good reason. He was coming down off of 70 years of brainwashing and torture, adding people into the mix was more than he was prepared for. Plus, finding peers closer to his own age would require some serious thinking. Was he almost a hundred, or was he closer to his mid-thirties? By who’s count was he keeping score? It was a difficult question.

“What about that other American, the one at Jelani’s?” Omondi supplied when Bucky didn’t say anything. “Jelani tells me you’ve been spending your lunch hour with her on Tuesdays.”

_Of course he did._ Bucky couldn’t help but wonder if Jelani had given Ramirez the same talk that he was now getting from Omondi.

“You might want to give it a try," Omondi concluded as a shady tent overlooking the Midwinter Festival’s festivities came into view. “They’re expecting you. I’ll see you after.” Omondi motioned with his head.

Bucky paused, looking back at Omondi’s retreating form, then up to the tent where he could hear laughter and voices. He would rather be out in the grassland watching over his goats than stuck at a formal luncheon, but he owed the King and his family this at the very least. He wished he’d known in advance to be able to mentally prepared himself for everything that was getting ready to take place, as the thought of all of the people, noise, and social protocol made his head begin to spin.

“So they got you too, huh, Barnes?”

He turned to see Ramirez walking up this hill toward him. Her usual pants and button-down replaced by a wrap skirt in the dark oranges and blacks and tans of the plains tribe and black halter, large bronze and copper earrings hung from her ears, and her long hair was twisted and braided, and wrapped with a cloth of a similar pattern as her skirt.

Bucky looked down at what he was wearing. The red and blue scarf and matching shirt and pants that Shuri had first given him when he’d arrived. It was clean and lacked holes or stains, but by comparison to her, he looked unkempt and underdressed.

“I meant the lunch.” She clarified as she came up beside him.

“Yeah. I received the invitation a little late, so I’m not quite as dressed.” He explained.

“This was part Teela, part Jelani, and I’m sure mostly Princess Shuri," Ramirez commented, glancing up at the tent. A look of dread crossed her expression. “If we started running now, how far do you think we’d get before they caught us?” She asked dryly.

Bucky looked down, they were both wearing leather sandals, although Ramirez’s were the kind that wrapped around her calves with thick straps. “Well, with those shoes, you wouldn’t get very far. I could carry you over my shoulder, but that would slow me down considerably.” He reasoned.

Ramirez snorted, shaking her head. “Every man for themselves, huh?” She asked, looking up at him, she arched a graceful eyebrow before returning her attention to the tent. “They’re our hosts. It would be rude.” She said, more to herself than to him.

Then there was a transformation. In an instant, she looked somehow more at ease, more relaxed, an easy smile on her face, “Come on Barnes, we’re already late, we shouldn’t keep our hosts waiting.” She said before charging up the hill without another word.

_A mask. _Bucky realized. It was what he’d seen on the ranch too. _A performance._ Was that what she was doing with him every Tuesday? He couldn’t help but wonder with creeping dread as he walked up the hill after her. He replayed their interactions as if upon closer inspection, he’d find something he’d missed before.

Reaching the entrance of the tent, he paused, watching the scene unfold before him. Princess Shuri had taken Ramirez over to the Queen-mother, who sat at the head of the table in her place of honor and was now engaged in a polite exchange. Ramirez executed a small bobbing curtesy, introducing herself in Wakandan, and thanking the queen mother for her gracious invitation. Her pronunciation was impeccable. _She’s been practicing. _Bucky couldn’t help but notice. He’d heard her a couple of Tuesday’s before their scheduled lunchtime, working on Wakandan phrases and expressions with Sisay and Jelani.

The Queen-mother smiled graciously. For her part, Ramirez looked the perfect picture of calm, composed, and poised, all except the clasped hands, which she was squeezing so tightly it looked painful.

Bucky paused as a silent presence settled beside him. “General.” He nodded.

“White Wolf," Okoye said in sharp English.

“Only my best behavior.” Bucky murmured.

“I would expect nothing less.” She answered coolly.

Bucky nodded. He didn’t mind her demeanor. He understood, and he respected her role and position. He hadn’t exactly started on the best foot with King T’Challa or his head of security. Being menacing wasn’t just for show, and Bucky knew on instinct alone that he did not want to ever find himself on the pointy end of Okoye’s spear. Ever.

“White Wolf. Join us!” The Queen Mother called in plain English, beckoning him over to the table where she, the Princess Shuri, and Ramirez were already sitting.

“Your highness, thank you for the invitation.” He nodded as he approached the table, pausing only as Okoye indicated which seat he would be occupying.

He was with his back to the entrance, which made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. But if anyone in Wakanda wanted to kill him, he’d imagine it would be the aforementioned General, who would be honorable enough to kill him face to face, rather than with a knife to the back.

Sinking down in the seat next to Ramirez, he looked across the table where Princess Shuri and The Queen mother already sat, two empty seats between them for The King and another guest.

“How are you finding Wakanda so far, Magdalene?” The Queen Mother asked her eyes flitting between the two foreigners at her table.

“Very Well. I am profoundly grateful for the tremendous generosity and kindness I’ve been shown by everyone I’ve met since I’ve arrived in your beautiful country,” Ramirez answered warmly, everything about her looked at ease. Or rather almost, Bucky couldn’t help but notice how her hands were still clenched in her lap.

The Queen Mother nodded graciously, before looking up and behind them, a regal smile gracing her expression. “Ahh, my son.”

Everyone turned to see The King with the woman he’d called on at the meeting when they’d found Ramirez, enter the tent, followed by his entourage of Doras.

“Barnes. Magdalen.” He nodded graciously as he unhooked his arm from the woman’s and turned to address them “

Bucky rose to his feet, as Ramirez did the same, and turned to the young monarch. “I apologize for the last-minute invitation, but we are glad you could both make it," T’Challa said, first shaking Bucky’s hand before he turned to Ramirez.

“Thank you for inviting us, your highness.” Ramirez managed in Wakandan as they shook hands.

“I see you have been practicing.” The King said, gracing her with a smile. “Jelani tells me you have been putting my birthday gift to good use.”

Ramirez nodded as they released hands. She returned the King’s smile with a hesitant one of her own, before continuing in English. “Yes, I haven’t had the opportunity to say thank you for the generous gift. I have been working very hard to make the absolute most out of them.”

Bucky watched the exchange with curiosity, his gaze darting back and forth between them. _Birthday gift? _He pondered a moment. _Oh Shit. It had been her birthday. _He knew her birthday. It was November 11th, Armistice Day, he’d written it down in his journal. Bucky backtracked, trying to remember when the 11th had been. _The day I carried her down the mountain. _It had been her birthday?

“Barnes, Magdalene, I believe you’ve already met her, but this is Nakia of the River tribe, and head of Wakandan international intelligence.”

“His girlfriend.” The Princess supplied not as under her breath as her brother would’ve liked.

Nakia, however, took it in stride. “A pleasure to meet you both, formally, this time," Nakia said, shaking hands with both him and Ramirez before following the King around the table.

The King sunk down, sitting down in the seat beside his mother, and Nakia sat between him and the Princess. When the royal family had settled, he looked up and motioned for them to sit as well.

Greeting his mother and sister, The King paused as the food was brought out and presented to the table. “Please, eat, drink and talk freely,” He urged them. “This is a day of celebration, and you are my guests.”

Ramirez thanked him again, before diving right into the meal, Bucky followed a little more cautiously, watching the physical cues of everyone around him, particularly Ramirez, who sat on his right side, still strained and tense like a rubber band about to snap.

Was it him? Was it the situation? Bucky didn’t know, so he stayed quiet, watching and listening to what was going on around him. Aside from not knowing what to say, he didn’t have all that much to say that would pass as pleasant lunch conversation. So he just listened. The royal family chatted amicably, occasionally The King and Princess quibbled, while Nakia and Ramirez were talking about ranching in west Texas, crop yields, and seasonal weather patterns and climate in Spanish.

From what Bucky could catch, Ramirez was doing her best to answer them but often finished with “I think...I was a kid, and it’s been a while...I can look it up if you’d like.”

To which Nakia would shake her head and say, “No, no, thank you, Ms. Ramirez.” And then would proceed to the next question. Bucky was amazed at how much Spanish he knew, considering all of the other languages and information Hydra had shoved in his brain.

All of this came to an abrupt halt when a message buzzed at her wrist. She stopped mid-sentence and looked down, reading the message. “Everything all right?” The Queen-mother questioned as all eyes turned to focus on Ramirez.

Ramirez nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I must excuse myself. I have to return to the stock pens. There is a fence breach. All hands on deck.” She glanced up and around at the assembled company. “Thank you, Queen-mother, for your hospitality. Thank you, your highness, for inviting me to dine at your table.”

“Of course. We shall not detain you.” The King replied graciously.

Ramirez rose, rushing her thanks and goodbyes to everyone. Pausing, she glanced down, nodded to him, and left the tent as the assembled company chorused their farewells to her retreating form.

Once she disappeared into the bustling crowds of the festival, all eyes turned to him.

“How have you been enjoying the Midwinter Festival, Mr. Barnes?” The King inquired, taking a sip of his drink.

Why did he feel like this was somehow a trap? They were going to find a way to bring this back around to Ramirez, ask him how they were getting along, how she was adjusting. So how was he supposed to respond to that? They were laying a trap for him, and he wasn’t sure how to avoid springing it. “I honestly hadn’t had a chance to look around before lunch. I look forward to getting the chance to see all that the Midwinter Festival has to offer.” He said.

“Were you surprised to see Ms. Ramirez here?” The Princess piped up.

_There it is._ “No. She told me she was going to be at the festival.”

“Jelani tells me you’ve been having lunch every Tuesday together.” The King continued. “How is she adjusting life in Wakanda?”

Bucky paused. What was there to say? He’d seen her once a week for three weeks, for an hour. Before that? They hadn’t exactly been on speaking terms. “I don’t think I could speak to that. I’m still adjusting, and I’ve been here quite a bit longer.”

The King nodded, and the lunch passed without further comment on the subject of Ramirez. Instead, Princess Shuri asked him about his goats, and how Omondi and the others were doing in the village. He asked her about her projects, and she was able to share some of the less classified things.

Lunch ended, and the royal family and Nakia bid him farewell, and he walked back through the festival grounds, his mind trying to digest what he’d just seen.

The Wakandans were trying to gauge how he and Ramirez were getting along. Between Omondi, T’Challa, and now he assumed Shuri, Jelani, and the rest of them, he and Ramirez were being watched like hawks. It made sense, the only two foreigners in the entire country, they want to make sure they aren’t getting into trouble. Was Ramirez receiving the same sort of treatment? What did she think of all of this?

For her part, Ramirez was excellent at playing whatever role needed to be played, particularly at lunch. But, he couldn’t help but notice, she’d been perfectly cordial and candid with him right before they’d joined the royal family. Did she want to talk to him? Did she look forward to talking to him the way that he was with her? Or was this simply a favor to his sister and Steve?

Bucky didn’t know, and he knew the only way to find out would be to ask, which at the moment felt like an insurmountable task.

“I trust lunch with the King went well," Omondi commented as Bucky arrived back at the goat paddocks.

As part of the festival there was a nationwide livestock sale, which accounted for the presence of the entire herding and ranching community. Omondi, who had several hundred goats split into various herds under the direction of his sons and sons in law, was a key figure not just in the village but in the country. As such, there were a bunch of Wakandan men gathered around Omondi, who all gave Bucky a critical look at his approach.

“I did.” He replied, surveying the group of men uncertainly.

Sensing Bucky’s discomfort, Omondi glanced around at the group, firing off several rapid bursts of Wakandan that Bucky didn’t quite catch all of. However, there were two particular phrases that he was able to catch. “Lunch with our king," and “Cowgirl was there.”

What else the man said, Bucky didn’t exactly know, but there was a round of laughs, and their demeanor changed.

Bucky shifted uncertainly as the men returned to their conversation with Omondi. He didn’t need to be here for this. He had told the King that he was going to explore and see what the festival had to offer.

_I just want to go home. _What? Back to his hut? To read? He was still trying to catch up after all. No, he was most likely going to go back to the hut, and journal, and he was going to sit and obsess over all of the stuff he was remembering, the violent, horrible things that the Winter Soldier had done.

_A friend would be good for you._

Bucky would’ve laughed if it wasn’t true. Unfortunately for both of them, the only likely candidate at the moment was Ramirez, and he still got the feeling that she only tolerated being around him. He wouldn’t dare burden her with such a task.

Slipping away from the goat pens, he wove his way through the festival’s stalls and vendors—all of them selling anything from fresh produce to fine jewelry. There was, of course, what could be considered fair food: frozen and fried desserts, meats on sticks, meats in between pieces of bread, all sorts of roasted and fried vegetables. There was even a shaved ice stand, although not with the technicolor array of flavors that he remembered buying from the stands in Coney Island and Central Park.

It was crowded and loud, and he couldn’t help but notice the stares and passing whispers. He tried to ignore them. After all, what could he exactly do to stop them? They would whisper regardless of what he did, just on the basis that he wasn’t Wakandan, and he was missing an arm, never mind that he was the guy who’d briefly been blamed for the death of their previous King.

Now that he was on the mend, he could go back out into the world and help Steve, Wilson, and Maximoff. Perhaps he could help them find Romanoff. _Not that ‘Tasha would ever let him find her if she didn’t want him to._

_No._ He shook his head. He could hardly control his flashbacks, and his nightmares were violent enough without going back into the field. It wouldn’t be a good thing for him. It wouldn't be a good thing for anyone.

_A friend would be good for you—someone to share your burden._

Bucky was pulled from his thoughts by the roar of massive bodies and the thunder of hooves.

He was near the cattle yards.

Glancing around, he realized that just a few hundred yards beyond the outskirts of the festival grounds, there was a massive field where the cattle were being moved into different pens.

The thunder of hooves was pierced by quick shouts in bursts of Wakandan. A call and response, almost like a song communicating something utterly foreign to Bucky, but that the riders seemed to understand and follow. His eyes scanned the field until he found Ramirez among them. Her hair was still wrapped up in the traditional Wakandans scarf, and she still wore the halter top but had removed the wrap skirt, using it as a scarf slung across her body, and now wore pants. Her massive beaten bronze and copper earrings were gone. Still, the reins, saddle, and saddle blanket of her horse, and all of the Wakandan riders were highly ornamented with and bangles and bells, which made an audible jangling that could be heard even over the massive thunder of hooves.

Her face, Bucky couldn’t help but notice was bent in focus and concentration as she and the horse moved together as one. It was fluid and natural, and the horse it seemed moved practically by telepathy as she didn’t seem to be directing the horse at all with the reins. She wasn’t alone, of course, there was Sisay, Jelani, and a few others all on horseback moving cows into various pens while others on the ground moved gates and orchestrated the next movement of animals and workers.

The ground was dry, and the movements of the massive animals raised dust, which swirled around them in the light afternoon breeze. Bucky found his gaze drawn to Ramirez as she worked, the way she maneuvered the horse in perfect harmony with the others. He’d never seen her on a horse, strange, considering he’d spent two weeks on her ranch. Well...not all that strange, considering he hadn’t exactly been all there for most of it. But seeing her on horseback now, she looked more at ease than he’d ever seen her before. There was something peaceful about her expression. Her face was bent in concentration and absolute focus, her eyes continually moving and accessing the situation second by second. Her mouth also moved as she worked, either answering the call or chewing on the corner of her mouth or licking her lips. It was an open and honest expression.

He was staring, Bucky knew he was starring, but he couldn’t look away as she worked, unaware of his presence, in what could best be described as her natural habitat.

There were only a few cows left, which they quickly and expertly sorted into the appropriate pens. Then over the plains came a song. It was loud and joyous, and Bucky managed about every third word or so. It was about finishing a hard day’s work and going home to the girl you love. Ramirez sang along, in a full chested voice, a broad grin on her face.

_Nothing else to see, you should go before she realizes you’ve been watching. _Bucky thought as he turned to go. “Heyi, White Wolf!” A series of voices chorused over the field and reached him. He froze, momentarily contemplating pretending that he hadn’t heard them, and walking away before they could reach him, but knew that he’d been made, and he’d have to turn and face the consequences.

Turning back around, he found that Jelani had broken off from the group and was trotting toward where he was standing. “You should come to the stables. A few of my riders would like to meet you!” He called. “Unless Omondi needs you elsewhere.”

“I can go to the stables," Bucky answered, glancing past Jelani to Ramirez, who had stopped a distance away and was watching the exchange.

“Don’t worry. She doesn’t bite. See you in a few," Jelani winked before, clicking his tongue, directing his horse back toward the other riders.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

Bucky followed after, and soon found himself surrounded by horses, and their riders. Jelani was there, of course, and introduced them in turn. They all shook his hand politely and asked him how he liked the festival, each of them expressing surprise when Bucky was able to respond in passable Wakandan.

After a few minutes, the crowd dispersed, and Bucky and Jelani were left standing alone. It was an open-air set of stalls not really a barn, more like a set of posts that the riders were tying their horses to. He could see Ramirez moving around her horse, fastening a feedbag and mask to the horse’s harness before she started removing the tack, setting it on a nearby log where the others were placing their saddles.

“You ever been on a horse, White Wolf?” Jelani inquired amicably.

“No.” Bucky shook his head, redirecting his attention to Jelani.

“Really? The King tells me that you were on Cowgirl’s ranch for two weeks. She didn’t get you on a horse?”

“I prefer having both feet on the ground," Bucky said quickly. The idea of getting on the back of a horse was more than enough to make his blood pressure skyrocket, never mind that Ramirez’s head had shot up and she was now watching them from where she was standing.

“Omondi says that you have a keen eye. You could be useful.”

Bucky didn’t know how to respond, and he grasped at straws, trying to figure out what to say next. His people and conversational capacity long spent after his lunch with the Royal Family, and now his brain was frantically trying to come up with something, but only drawing a blank.

Then, Ramirez’s voice broke the silence. “Hey, Barnes! Can you come over here a minute?” She called.

Glancing at Jelani, Jelani gave him the universal “Go on,” motion with his head, and Bucky nodded, excusing himself and quickly crossing the yard to where Ramirez was working on her horse.

Rounding the back of the horse, he found Ramirez crouched. She looked up at his approach, a grimace creasing her features. “What’s wrong?” He asked, stopping in his tracks.

“Sounded like you could use an out," Ramirez replied with a thin smile that quickly returned to a grimace. “Could you...can you..” she paused, licking her lips, motioned vaguely to the hoof pick lying on the ground with her right hand, her left clutched against her. “I’ll never hear the end of it if I asked them for help.” She said.

Bucky nodded, understanding her meaning, and wordlessly retrieved the pick.

“If you don’t mind too much, could you help me pick out the hooves? I’ll lift the hoof if you pick it out, I can walk you through it if you’d like.”

“I remember,” he replied, adjusting the pick in his hand.

“So you remember that, huh?” She cracked a small smile as she lifted the first hoof, straddling the horse’s leg, held it steady.

“I had a good teacher," Bucky said as he started to remove the compacted dirt and mud from the pad of the hoof. It was slow going with only one hand, but Ramirez was keeping the hoof steady, so it wasn’t as difficult as it might have been otherwise.

“How’d the rest of lunch go?” She commented casually as he worked.

“Fine.” Bucky paused, glancing up at her, they met each other’s gaze. “The King wanted to know how you’re adjusting to life in Wakanda.”

Much to her credit, Ramirez’s facial features remained perfectly still, even as her eyes surveyed his expression. “Oh? And what did you say?”

“Said I wasn’t qualified to speak to that.” He answered.

Ramirez snorted, but nodded, offering no other commentary.

“Was that okay?” Bucky asked uncertainly.

“That looks good.” She said, ignoring his question. “Help me with the other three?”

“Sure.” He nodded.

They moved to the next one, and he worked in silence a moment before Ramirez spoke again. “Yeah. That was fine.” She paused, “Level with me, Barnes. Is there some kind of betting pool that I’m unaware of?” She asked, the exasperation thick in her voice.

“No. Why?”

“It feels like everyone has taken a tremendous interest in our interactions recently. I figured money had to be involved,” Ramirez shook her head.

_So it wasn’t just him. _That was a relief. “Yeah, I noticed that too.” He paused, “Does it bother you? I’m sure if we said something, it would stop.”

"I doubt it," Ramirez shrugged, “I was just wondering what the stakes were and if I should place a wager.”

“What?” He stammered.

She paused, looking up at him, cracked a smile, giggling quietly. “It was a joke, Barnes.”

“Oh. Right.”

“So, other than that, nothing extraordinary happened after I left? You have a chance to explore the festival?” She inquired as they completed the second hoof and moved around to the third.

“Nothing extraordinary to report. I did get a chance to walk around for a bit.”

“Anything exciting?”

“Not particularly,” He shrugged casually.

“Must be pretty boring if you were driven to watching us work,” She commented with a light laugh. It wasn’t a harsh or mean laugh. It was pleasant and kind. Probably kinder than he deserved.

“I’d never seen a cattle round-up or drive or whatever,” He explained, not about to mention that the crowds and noise had been getting to him.

Ramirez paused, again looking up at him, “No. I guess you hadn’t.” She said thoughtfully, surveying him a moment before focusing back down on what they were doing.

“So what about you? Have you had a chance to explore?” He asked, his attention focused down on the hoof, picking and scraping at the mud, grass, and twigs that had compacted.

“Not too much. Just when I was walking to lunch.”

They paused, both standing up and watching as a group of the riders walked by, “Heyi White Wolf, see you later, ewe?” They called, waving as they passed.

Bucky nodded, watching Ramirez’s expression out of the corner of his eyes as they walked away. It wasn’t angry or frustrated. If anything, it was amused. “What?” He asked as they walked around to the last hoof.

“They really like you, don’t they?” She said, picking up the horse's leg.

“Who?”

“The kids. Omondi. Jelani, my co-workers, the Wakandans in general.”

“Oh. _That._” He said sourly. “I think it’s more that I’m a curiosity. The strange one-armed white guy.”

“You are a strange white guy with one arm.” She said a matter of factly, releasing the last hoof and giving the horse’s haunch a pat. Without missing a beat, she extended her hand to him, “Pick, please.”

Placing the pick in her open palm, Bucky watched as she turned, and crouching down by her saddlebags, started to rummage through them. His mind reeled as he tried to pick apart their current conversation to figure out what was going on. She’d recognized he was having a hard time and called him over to help her. They were having a conversation, a quite normal, he’d even argue a pleasant conversation. She hadn’t been awkward about him calling himself ‘that strange one-armed white guy.’ Even Steve got a little uncomfortable when Bucky made casual reference to the arm, or now the lack thereof. She’d even asked him for his help, in a way that was both beneficial to her, and accessible for him.

“Hey Barnes, you wanna help me brush?”

“Sure.” He nodded as Ramirez rose to her feet.

“Awesome, here catch.” She tossed a brush to him.

Bucky caught it. Inspecting it curiously, he chuckled under his breath. Even here in the far reaches of the world, the tools were damn near identical. Ramirez moved around to the other side of the horse, where she was across him and started to brush the horse down with patient methodical circles, her eyes bright and focused were still creased with pain and exhaustion.

“Long day?”

“Yeah,” She sighed, nodding. “Been up and out since about three this morning.”

“Why so early?”

Ramirez snorted, “You are a dyed in the wool city kid.” She shook her head, “Ummm,” She began, “Well, had to get the horses out and ready to go for the day. Then coordinating with the other tribes to drive their cattle and then getting them to the yard. Then, of course, the fence breach. It’s been a hell of a day.” She sighed.

“Sounds like it.” He agreed.

They continued in silence, working quietly on their respective sides a moment before Ramirez spoke again. “Okay. I gotta ask. Is there a reason why they call you White Wolf? Other than your pallid completion, I mean?” She watched him a moment, her eyes just visible over the horse’s back, before adding. “And before you eye-roll into another dimension, I do ask in earnest. They keep referring to you as the White Wolf. I’m just wondering if I should refer to you as the Lobo Blanco as well.”

“I wasn’t going to eye-roll into another dimension Ramirez, and no, you don’t have to call me that.” He paused, trying to find the most direct path through what was a complicated story. “It’s an honorific. It means I’ve been accepted into Wakanda as an outsider. I’ve been effectively adopted into Wakanda.”

“Ah. So a title. Color me a little disappointed.” She said, shaking her head.

“I can’t stop you from calling me, Lobo Blanco.”

She looked up at him. “You have incredible pronunciation for a gringo. I’m impressed.”

“But you knew that I mean—” He cut himself off, bracing himself for a negative reaction.

Instead, Ramirez just shrugged, “I mean yeah. I know that you speak 30 languages, but I didn’t know if you spoke it like a gringo or like a native speaker. I would consider myself to be a native speaker, and even I had a bit of trouble blending in, in Juarez.” She replied. “How’s your idiomatic Spanish? They teach you all of the swear words?”

Bucky snorted. _That would’ve been something. _“No.” He shook his head. “Not officially. I did pick up some idiomatic and profane language via exposure but nothing sanctioned per-say.” He paused as he processed the words coming out of his mouth.

They were talking about Hydra, they were talking about the Winter Soldier, and about the training, they’d given him. Shouldn’t he be feeling something? Shouldn’t she be more on edge? She knew what he’d done for them, wouldn’t she be worried about, triggering him or something? Instead, she looked perfectly at ease and content as she continued working the brush in little circles. If she was afraid of him or afraid of eliciting a reaction out of him, she didn’t show it.

“Well, I’ll have to teach you some of the more colorful Spanish colloquialisms some time.” She continued, unaware of his internal dialogue. “Provided you can help me with swear words in a language of your choosing. Even English, I like outdated slang and swear words.”

“Oh, the old-timey curse words.” He hazarded a little a vague sarcasm with a dash of mock innocence. “I don’t think I know any of those.”

“Oh, bullshit, Barnes,” She rolled her eyes. “You forget I’ve spent a lot of my life around members of the armed forces, and I’ll have you know Army has the second-worst language, behind Navy.”

“Behind Navy? I’m fucking appalled.”

Ramirez laughed. “Well, they say swear like a sailor for a reason. Swear like an Army Sergeant doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.”

“I’d have to agree with you.” Bucky nodded.

“Heyi, Cowgirl.”

They both turned to see Jelani standing a few feet away. “Ewe, Jelani?” She turned to the man, her body language immediately becoming more rigid than it had been only a second before.

“When you are done with that, take some time. We won’t need you until this evening.” Jelani paused, surveying her a moment. “Get a wrap on your wrist and hand. You’re not fooling anyone.”

“Ewe.” She nodded, and Jelani departed without another word. She turned back to the horse with a heavy sigh and resumed her careful brush strokes. “It’s been a while since I’ve worked like that. My hand is bothering me.” She explained the anger, frustration, and venom in her words palpable. Ramirez glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, “Marble rolling pin and a couple of Hydra Douchebags will do that to you.” She shook her head, “but I guess I don’t have anything to complain about.” Her gaze lingered a moment on his left shoulder, before looking down.

What was he supposed to say? What did she expect him to say? Bucky said nothing, finishing his work in silence. When she’d finished, he rounded the horse and extended the brush to her. “Anything else?” He inquired as she took the brush from him and returned them to the saddlebag.

“Nope, that’ll be all Lobo Blanco," Ramirez replied with a playful grin, her tone resuming its casual, almost relaxed cadence, though now Bucky was almost entirely sure that it was a mask that she’d put on to put him at ease.

“So, what are you going to do now?”

“Other than ice down my wrist and hand, not much, probably take a nap.” She shrugged,

“You’re not going to explore the festival grounds?” He asked. He couldn’t help but hear the sharp note of disappointment in his voice.

Ramirez paused, surveying him with a mild hint of surprise. She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “It’s been a long day, Barnes, and I gotta find ice for my hand. I’m sure I’ll be able to check out the next festival.”

“There is a shaved ice stand. It’s on my way back to where Omondi is keeping the goats. I could show you. If you like.” Bucky blurted out.

_This is stupid._ He was being stupid, but he and Ramirez had been having a good conversation, up until that brief interlude about her hand, and he wanted to know if they could have a conversation, an outing, an afternoon where they could be civil, maybe even be able to have a good time. A part of him, a small nearly non-exist part of him, part of the Bucky from the old days, wanted to see if he could make her laugh, _really _make her laugh. Just to see if he could. Just to see her eyes light up like they had when they’d been joking around. Just to know he was capable of it, after causing so much pain, he could create joy or happiness, even in the smallest amount. That perhaps he could make amends with someone he’d wronged or maybe even be capable of making friends.

Then again. She might be trying to find a way to politely excuse herself. They didn’t exactly have the best track record with interpersonal interactions, and as she’d said, she’d had a very long day. “I’ll buy you a birthday snow cone.” He added.

“A birthday snow cone?” She echoed, raising an eyebrow, “You’re not going to sing me the birthday song, are you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He shook his head,

She paused, evaluating her options. Eventually, she nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Ramirez repeated, “Shaved ice sounds good. Let me change back into my skirt and sandals, and we’ll get going.”

“Sounds like a solid plan.”

-

_So this is apparently a _thing. Maggie couldn’t help but think as she walked through the Wakandan Festival, shoulder to shoulder with none another than James Barnes.

They weren’t speaking, well weren’t talking at the moment. It had been a long day, but then again, that’s what she’d signed up for. Work hard today, and you’ll work hard again tomorrow. That’s what her grandfather had always said, and that was the life of a rancher. It was a life she’d led for almost 3/4s of her life so far. But it had been a while since she’d done anything closely approximating what she’d done today, and she was sore and tired and not entirely sure she was in the mood for anyone’s company, never mind that of James Barnes.

Certainly, things had been better since he’d stumbled across her laying out under the stars in the middle of the night. They’d had their Tuesday lunch hour and had talked about Becca. That had been nice. Maggie had enjoyed that. She missed her friend, and it was apparent that Barnes was both curious and eager to find out who Becca had been. It was evident that James Barnes, Bucky, still loved his sister very much.

Yet, they’d been cautious. While she wasn’t sure about Barnes, Maggie, in particular, had been careful about the types of questions she’s asked, and the way that she’d answered his questions. For her, it was a matter of mitigating the creepy factor. Maggie still was on edge about how much she knew about Barnes, not just the medical and service record of the Winter Solider if it could be called that, but mainly with the personal information she had on him. How exactly was she supposed to tell Barnes that his sister had, on several occasions, said that he would’ve loved Maggie had they known each other back in the day? Would it ever be the right time/place/context to talk about the fact that Maggie had developed a crush on the apparition of James Barnes that Becca had painted for her, during their friendship? After all, she had experienced reoccurring dreams with the historic hunk with relative frequency, including a rainy rescue that ended in warm milk and a kiss on the fire escape, and a birthday snow cone.

So her _actual _rainy rescue hadn’t involved either warm milk or kissing of any kind, and the snow cone, well the snow cone was circumstantial to her needing ice for her wrist, but still, Maggie was struggling. How the hell was she supposed to sort through the strange array of shit that was now happening? So she’d had a little harmless historical crush that she’d been more than happy to indulge while she was looking for the guy. Had that been such a terrible thing? It had kept her sane, and frankly human, during the whole ordeal. She’d never anticipated that she would be stuck in the same place as him, spending any kind of professional or leisure time with the man. Only now she was. How exactly she planned to deal with that, she didn’t know. She _had_ planned on keeping everything strictly professional, but apparently, even that wasn’t necessarily in the cards.

_Let him set the terms for your interactions. _

That seemed to make the most sense, and their Tuesday lunches seemed to be a natural outgrowth of his curiosity about his sister. Maggie had more than enough information to supply him, and was happy to provide answers for him.

However, as if her own private conundrum wasn’t enough, there was now apparently the Wakandans increasing interest in her and Barnes’s interactions. Barnes seemed just as perplexed by it as she was, which was comforting in some small way. Did the Wakandans see something that she was missing? Were they just curious about the two strange foreigners in their midst? Was this some kind of entertainment or amusement for them? Or was this simply how the Wakandans were looking out for their well being by encouraging them to become friends?

Maggie didn’t know. And was it so wrong to admit that she’d enjoyed their Tuesday lunches? That talking about Becca again after going so long without even saying her name out loud wasn’t something she looked forward to? Was it horrible to imagine that maybe, just maybe she enjoyed Barnes’s company? Was it wrong to think that perhaps Barnes enjoyed her company too? After all, he’d enticed her out into the fairgrounds with the promise of cold desserts and ice for her hand.

“So that’s what you do, huh?”

Her brain re-engaged in the present at the sound of his voice. “What?” She stammered, glancing over and up at him as they walked.

“I asked, that’s what you do.”

“Oh. With the horses?”

He nodded.

“Well..today was a first...it’s been years since I’ve had to do something like all that. Normally it’s just shoeing horses and shoveling shit.”

“That’s what it looked like back on the ranch.”

“It’s mostly what it was. Which is why I was practically lost out there today.”

“You looked like you knew what you were doing out there.”

“Well, looks can certainly be deceiving. That was superior Wakandan horse training and my teammates picking up the slack for me.” She paused before adding. “But, I do appreciate your positive evaluation of my ability.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything.

_"You gotta give me more to work with here, Barnes," _is what Maggie wanted to say, but he was buying her a snow cone. So she couldn’t be too critical of his lack of small talk. “What on earth possessed you to sit and watch us sorting cattle? This is a festival. Certainly, there are other events that are at least a little more interesting than watching us work.”

“Not as many people.” He said simply.

“Oh.” He was a veteran. He had PTSD, the amount of energy it took to combat any number of anxiety and triggers, never mind how exhausting the lunch with the royal family was without the extra brain stuff happening, was astronomical. He was probably exhausted from that exertion alone, never mind actually walking and talking and functioning like a normal human being. It certainly put his rather deer in headlights look he’d had when he’d been talking with Jelani earlier into context, and explained his rather succinct answers now. But he hadn’t been that way when they’d been working on the horse. Maggie paused, glancing around at the crowd of people. Aware of how the crowd seemed to part before them. Just barely wide enough for them to walk through, and that immediately closed behind them. _The strange one-armed white guy. _“That makes sense.” She concluded lamely.

_So why not just go home?_

But she knew the answer. It would raise more questions, and it would ultimately reflect poorly on their hosts, and after everything the royal family had done, it wasn’t worth it. That had more than factored into her decision to accept the invitation to lunch rather than take a nap.

“Did Elder Jelani give you a horse, or are you borrowing one of his?”

“Oh. No.” She rushed, practically stammering. “No. The King gave me a pair for my birthday.” She could feel a blush rising on her cheeks. She didn’t like her birthday, and she could barely stand the idea of a _King_ giving her two horses, even if she did need them. “I feel like it’s conditional ownership, but they are functionally mine. I was riding Stella today, Skywalker is back in the village, very happy to not be working today.”

“Skywalker. As in Luke Skywalker?”

“Yeah.” She couldn’t help but feel some relief at the fact that he didn’t push her further about her birthday, or the gift of the horses, or any of it. Maggie smiled, “Catching up?”

“Yeah. Slowly.”

“I bet.”

“List’s about a mile long, but doing my best.”

“Well, when you’ve cleared through your backlog, I’m sure I can offer some recommendations. Star Wars may be a classic, but I think you can do better for science fiction films in the last 70 years.”

“I’ve been browsing some lists on the internet, but would welcome any suggestions from anyone over the age of thirty.”

Thirty? It seemed a little arbitrary. “The Princess?” Maggie asked as the thought dawned on her. “She’s been helping you catch up, hasn’t she?”

“Yeah. I think she’d made it her personal mission to give me a crash course on all of the popular culture I’ve missed. It’s been useful, but...” He paused, licking his lips as he tried to find the right words, that panicked expression as he searched and searched for the right word, and it just didn’t come creeping onto his face.

“A bit of a difference in taste.” She supplied.

He exhaled, nodding, his eyes scanning the crowds. “You could say that.” The relief was palpable in his voice.

“Well. As I am over the age of thirty, I am more than happy to provide recommendations for popular culture for any medium from about the mid-1980s to the present.” She said.

Riley would be flipping shit. He had been a huge movie buff, Captain America enthusiast, and a walking history textbook. Maggie knew she would never have heard the end of it, ever, if she didn’t ask. Ask the question, the only question that mattered. The most important plot reveal in modern cinema (with perhaps arguably the twist in Six sense). “So have you seen Empire Strikes back?”

“Yeah?” Barnes answered uncertainly.

“What’d you think?”

“It was fine.” He shrugged.

“Fine?” she echoed. “What’d you think of the whole Darth Vader thing? The big reveal?”

Barnes furrowed his brow as he thought a moment. “The whole, I am your father thing?” He asked after a moment.

“Yeah!”

“Oh.” He hesitated. “Hate to be a downer, but I’ve known about _that_ particular twist since the movie came out.”

She opened her mouth to respond but stopped. _Hydra. _“Ahh.”

“I did absorb some popular culture through proximity, Ramirez. Personally, I prefer Star Trek, the original series to Star Wars.”

“More science, less shooting?” She supplied.

"Yeah.”

“Becca told me you were a huge nerd.”

“That sounds like her.”

Maggie chuckled but didn’t have time to respond as they arrived at the shaved ice stand. Barnes spoke in passable Wakandan with the stall owner. Maggie had been practicing with Jelani and Sisay, but she couldn’t imagine she’d ever get good enough to be fluent. She _wanted _to. She was living in-country for the foreseeable future, it would be downright rude if she didn’t at least try, and Wakandan was such a beautiful language. Perhaps the Princess could just implant a language chip in her brain to give her fluency in at least 30 languages, if not more.

“Ramirez, flavor of shaved ice?” Barnes repeated.

“Cherry.” Maggie blurted out.

He hesitated, glancing over at the vendor, who shook his head. “Don’t think they have that one.”

Maggie blushed. “Sorry. Ummm. Coconut.”

Barnes nodded, ordering their shaved ices before he asked the vendor about ice for her hand. She could tell because of the way that he motioned and gestured with his hand. The vendor nodded, glancing at Barnes, then at her, then back at Barnes. Motioning down the line of stalls, he gave Barnes some rapid instructions before he handed over the first of the shaved ices.

“Ice?” Maggie asked as she took the large mound of ice and flavored syrup from him.

“He said that his wife sells something better, a few stalls down.” He explained, handing over a few coins, before taking his shaved ice, thanking the vendor, started walking purposefully.

“Did he say what? I mean, I only really want ice to help with my hand.” She stammered, following after him.

“Apparently something that will last longer than ice. He wasn’t clear. He was just very insistent that we talk to his wife.” He explained.

“Oh.” She frowned.

“It’s melting,” Barnes commented.

“What? Oh.” She glanced down at the mass of ice that was melting over her hand, and took a big bite,

Maggie sighed. It had been forever since she’d had anything this sweet or cold. It satisfied a craving that Maggie hadn’t even realized that she had. She caught Barnes’s gaze, cracked a small smile. “Thanks, this is really amazing.”

“Let’s get your hand taken care of.” He replied.

She didn’t know how to respond to that. She didn’t know if, at this point, he would let her say no. Furthermore, she was intrigued as to what this mini-adventure would yield at the end of their quest. Stopping at the stall, the other vendor had apparently indicated, Maggie paused, “huh.” Her eyes scanned the booth. It looked like jewelry: bracelets, necklaces, and rings, that all seemed to be made of various kinds of metal.

Maggie frowned. She’d seen the stupid copper bracelets advertised on TV, the ones that were supposed to help with pain and joint problems due to Arthritis. It was a load of shit, she’d read the peer-reviewed scientific articles about it, particularly when she’d had a lot of time on her hands back at the Avengers Compound. Was this really what they were suggesting? Here? In Wakanda? Really?

“Is this some kind of placebo?” She blurted out, drawing the attention of both the stall owner and Barnes.

“Perhaps in America, _Cowgirl._” The woman running the stall said, sourly, her accent thick. “Come come. Give me your wrist.”

Maggie glanced between Barnes and the stall owner. “You should do it, Ramirez.” Barnes motioned with his head for Maggie to approach.

She did as instructed, hesitantly extending her left hand and wrist to the woman, who took it in both hands and surveyed it carefully. “How?” She asked, before turning to Barnes and giving a more in-depth explanation of her question.

“Crushed.” Maggie made a crushing motion with her right hand, accompanied by what she hoped came across as a crushing noise.

Barnes translated, and the woman nodded. “Ah.” She let go of Maggie’s hand and went to the rows upon rows of bracelets. Selecting one, the stall owner returned to where she and Barnes were standing and put the bracelet around Maggie’s left wrist. “Not Placebo.” The woman said firmly, before making a flexing motion with her hand.

Maggie flexed her hand experimentally and exhaled slowly. It was still stiff, and it still hurt, but it hurt considerably less, and she could actually feel her fingertips, as compared to the fuzzy buzz that she’d experienced for over the past two years. She exhaled sharply, chuckling weakly as she swallowed hard, feeling like she was about to cry. “Thank you.” Maggie managed in the little Wakandan she knew. “How much?”

Barnes cut in, speaking in Wakandan with the shop owner. Setting his shaved ice down, he fished through his satchel and removed some money. He thanked the woman, picked back up his shaved ice, and continued walking.

“Barnes.” She stammered, trailing behind him.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Barnes you, really don’t have to do that. You-it’s-why-just.” Maggie couldn’t quite get her words out. She hadn’t entirely made out how much money was exchanged, but it wasn’t the same as the cost as a snow cone that she knew for sure.

“Not exactly a pair of Wakandan horses, but should be good enough for a belated birthday present.” He commented, taking a sizable bite of his shaved ice

“You didn’t have to do that.” She managed finally.

He chewed and swallowed before replying. “How does your hand feel?”

“That’s not the point, Barnes.” Maggie said, “How much do I owe you?”

“I said, don’t worry about it.” He shrugged.

Maggie opened and closed her mouth, trying to find something to say. This was a losing battle. What was she going to do? Go return the bracelet? She looked down at it, glinting in the light. It was a multi-strand bracelet that fastened with a single clasp. Each strand was comprised of two or three wires strung through beads no bigger than a pearl, spaced out at random intervals along each strand. The beads while all grey had different sheens, some more blue or purple, while others were more red or green.

She hadn’t bought herself jewelry in years and hadn’t received jewelry in just as long. She just didn’t wear it mostly, and now she’d been given several very lovely pieces within the span of a few hours.

Yet it was more than just that. It was the fact that this wasn’t just something beautiful, but also function, easing a physical pain, a pain that had been inadvertently caused by the gift given. Maggie glanced up at Barnes. Did he realize the symbolism? The significance of his gift? Or was this random act of kindness exactly that, random. It didn’t matter_. She_ could see it and would stop being difficult about it, at least for now.

“Thank you, Barnes. It’s beautiful and functional. I’ll have to find a way to get you back.”

“I’d say you really don’t have to, but I know you’re going to ignore me anyway," Barnes replied.

Maggie smiled, “You’re a quick study.”

“Wouldn’t say _that_ per-say. You’re just stubborn. Even I can recognize patterns.” He joked sarcastically. Pausing, he glanced over at her, a measure of uncertainty on his face as he tried to figure out if he’d overstepped.

“I _am_ a stubborn ass, I’ll grant you, but then again, so are you, James Barnes.” She laughed lightly.

“Using first _and_ last names, I see.”

At this, Maggie froze. “That’s all right, isn’t it?”

“You can call me whatever you want, Ramirez. I think you of all people have earned that right.”

“Well. That goes for you too. And let me just officially state for the record I’m glad we’ve moved beyond the point of you calling me ma’am.”

“Message received and understood.” He replied. “How’s your shaved ice?”

“Good.” She said, taking a drink of the remaining slush. Maggie paused, mulling over her next words. “Thank you, Barnes, for letting me talk about your sister. I’ve enjoyed our Tuesday lunches. It’s been really nice talking about Becca again. I appreciate it.”

Barnes nodded. “Me too, Ramirez.”

They both stopped, glancing one another over. Maggie realized that they had returned to the edge of the festival and that the stalls were now only a couple hundred yards away. “Well. Thank you for this, Barnes. It was an adventure.” She drank up the rest of the slush, tossing the cup into the recycle bin.

“Thanks for letting me treat you to a birthday snow cone, and a belated gift.”

“You strong-armed me on the gift, but I do appreciate it, my hand does feel much better.”

“Glad to hear.” He finished off his snow cone, likewise throwing the paper cup into the recycle bin.

There was this pause, this moment of hesitation as they both looked each other over as if they were both waiting for the other to say something first.

“I had fun.” She said.

“Me too.”

“See you on Tuesday for lunch?”

“I look forward to it.”

Maggie smiled, “Sounds good. And do let me know if you want or need movie recommendations. Deal?” She extended her hand to him.

“Deal," He nodded. Taking her hand, they shook on it.

His grip was firm, warm, and she couldn’t help but notice a little sticky from the shaved ice, but Maggie also couldn’t help but notice how cautious it still felt, as though he was afraid he was going to break her.

“Heyi, Cowgirl! Find your ice?” One of her fellow riders called some distance off.

Barnes left go of her hand as if they’d been caught in the act of doing something nefarious or unsavory.

“Yeah, I did.” She called back, rolling her eyes.

“They’re going to talk.” He commented, looking more sheepish than she ever could’ve imagined possible for a man who’d lived the life he had.

“They were going to talk regardless.” Maggie shrugged. “Anyway, I won’t detain you any longer. Thanks again for everything. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“See you on Tuesday.” He nodded.

Maggie turned and walked back toward the stables, leaving Barnes behind her. It had been a long and exhausting day, but, Maggie would argue, a good one. She paused, glancing over her shoulder at Barnes, who was watching her hasty retreat back to the stables, and a broad smile crossed her face, her right hand going to her left wrist, fiddling with one of the strands of the vibranium bracelet. It _had_ been a good day, and now she had another Tuesday to look forward to in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I’ll probably update behind the scenes later today. (Oddly enough I’m traveling to Maggie’s home state today for a wedding so things are a little hectic atm). As always I look forward to hearing what y’all think! Happy reading!
> 
> Updated 11/11/2019 (Happy Birthday Maggie Ramirez!) Here's some behind the scenes!
> 
> https://spacecasewriter13.tumblr.com/post/189001808085/how-one-fic-became-four-otherwise-known-as-oh-no


	8. Casablanca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> TW: Mention of Suicide, Mention of death, PTSD, 
> 
> Recommended Listening: Main Title/ Prologue by Warner Bro’s Studio Orchestra; Airport Finale/ Here’s Looking at you Kid by Warner Bro’s Studio Orchestra; It Had To Be You/Shine (Medley)
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=AYZf354JSiOJ3kW5OgDoCQ

It was Tuesday again, and it had been exactly a week since they’d had their interaction at the fairgrounds. As Bucky approached Jelani’s workshop and barn, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. He’d been looking forward to Tuesday since last Tuesday. He wanted to know if Ramirez had come up with anything new for him to watch, and was equally as eager to share what he’d watched, read, and learned over the last week.

He rounded the final corner, leading to the village, and saw her spread out of on a blanket in their usual spot under one of the massive trees that were clustered around the workshop. Ramirez looked perfectly at ease, her lunch placed out in front of her, she sat crossed legged, a book open across her lap. Her face, while bent in focus and concentration, was partially obscured by a screen of hair. Her hair, rather than wrapped around her head in a braid, hung in a loose braid that ended somewhere around her waist. She brushed loose strands out of her face caught by the light wind, the bracelet around her left wrist glinting in the light.

_So she’s actually wearing it._

He felt oddly flattered. Bucky had continuously debated with himself on whether the bracelet had been too much if he’d overstepped the bounds of propriety by buying her something like that. In the end, he’d ultimately decided it didn’t matter if it worked for her, and she wore it, great. If not, he’d done it out of an impulse more than anything rational, and there was nothing lost by her not wearing it. But she was wearing it. It made him _happy._

“You wanna unload this now, Ramirez, or after lunch?” He called to her, as he arrived with the feed cart, announcing his presence.

“After. I’ve already started eating.” She answered without looking up from her book.

Bucky nodded, unhooking the mule, whom he’d privately nicknamed Sally, from the cart and tying her off to one of the posts, he collected his satchel and walked over to where Ramirez was sitting.

Sinking down on his regular corner, removed his lunch, and his satchel from his bag, while she silently closed the book, she was reading and set it aside. With a heavy sigh, she looked up at him, “hi.”

“Hi.”

“How’s your week been?” She asked pleasantly, diving into what looked like chopped chicken, mixed vegetables, and couscous.

“Uneventful.”

“I take it that’s a good thing.”

“Yeah.” He agreed. “You?”

“I think I can finally say I’m settling into a routine. Trying to find work/life balance. Yanno. Trying to find and maintain good self-care practices for the sake of my mental and physical health.”

“How’s that working for you?”

“Oh. It’s horrible.” She shook her head, chuckling lightly. “But, I have been looking forward to lunch today.”

“You have?” Bucky asked, wincing internally at the surprise in his own voice.

“Absolutely. Been thinking through pop culture recommendations, and I realized I don’t know what you’ve seen, what you’ve already been recommended, or what even you’d be interested in reading, watching, or listening to. Other than the fact that you’re a huge nerd.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “Thanks for that one, Bec.”

“Don’t worry, your sister did not discriminate. Steve was...is according to her a huge art snob, who apparently had very strong feelings about Citizen Kane.”

Bucky scoffed. “That’s putting it mildly. Steve ranted for weeks about that film. ‘Oh, boo hoo poor rich guy feels bad about his life, fuck off with your pro-capitalist propaganda.’ He was ready to throw fists with Orson Welles, surprised he didn’t, to be honest, considering the types of circles Stevie ran in during his showgirl days.”

He stopped, looking up at Ramirez, who was watching him with an amused expression. “What?” He asked.

“Sounds like Steve’s always been a little shit.” She giggled.

“Only a little?”

Ramirez bobbed her head side to side, “Yeah, okay. You make a fair point.”

“So why where you and Bec talking about Citizen Kane?”

“Oh. We were talking about the American Film Institute’s list of 100 greatest Films.”

“Oh yeah.” He pulled out his journal and opened it to where he’d started writing out movie suggestions to one corner he’d written out, AFI (1998/2007?) “Which list do you recommend?”

“Oh. Ummm. Jeeze. I’ve actually never made it through the list. Citizen Kane always hung me up, and I couldn’t force myself to watch Casablanca or The Godfather. Riley really was the one to push me to watch things outside of my cinematic wheelhouse. It’s a shame really, he would’ve had a thousand excellent suggestions. I’m far less sophisticated in my movie choices.” Ramirez shook her head.

Right Riley Underdhal, Sam Wilson’s partner and Ramirez’s husband, deceased. Bucky wasn’t sure how to respond, mainly when it came to Wilson or her dead husband, so he pivoted slightly. “Any reason, in particular, why you don’t want to watch The Godfather or Casablanca?”

“Eeehhh.” She shrugged. “Godfather is hyper-violent, I’ve read the book, don’t really have any desire to see the movie. As for Casablanca.” She paused, surveying him. “I’m not entirely a fan of WWII media.”

“Oh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell Steve, he starred in a dozen or so WWII movies.”

Ramirez chuckled, shaking her head. “I’ve seen them, they’re terrible.”

“They really are.” Bucky agreed. “But Casablanca is supposed to be the second or third greatest film of all time.”

“Forgive me and my cinema faux pas, but with Citizen Kane as the number one, I’m a little skeptical.”

“Well. If you were to ask Steve, after he’s calmed down about Orson Welles trying to make us feel sorry for some rich ass-hole, he would explain that Citizen Kane was innovative for how it was shot, the type of lighting, that sort of stuff.”

“Well. I’ll have to try my luck next time I have a minute with Steve, and ask.”

“Well, make sure I’m not around. I don’t wanna have to sit through that again.”

“Understood and duly noted.”

“But really Ramirez. As a resident geezer of the 1940s variety, I gotta ask, what’s your beef?”

She snorted, shaking her head.“Believe it or not, it’s not actually beef with the 1940s, per se. It’s about how the war is remembered, and how all the horrible shit has been swept under the rug.”

“Well, now, I’m curious.”

“The short answer?” Ramirez asked hesitantly, looking him over. “I don’t like what war does to people, and I don’t like the romanticization of war. WWII get that a lot. It was the Good War, and the 1940s is often looked back upon with rose-colored glasses, despite everything that was actually happening, and the realities of that war on the lives of millions of people.”

_Like me?_ He would’ve asked. But he didn’t. They both _knew_ that she meant people like him, only he was an outlier to an already horrible situation. Beyond her present company, she’d spent years helping battle-scarred veterans back at the Ranch, before he came along and ruined it. She had a right to her particular feelings, and she wasn’t wrong. It just didn’t leave very much room for conversation.

He nodded. There was a long pause as they both tried to find something to say. “For what it’s worth, Ramirez. I think you might like Casablanca.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Call it intuition.”

She snorted, “Anything more substantial than that, James Barnes?”

“No.”

“No? Come on, man, you can’t just recommend it and then not explain why.”

“I dunno. I think I just did.” He shrugged. “It’s been a while. Ask me again after you’ve watched it.”

Ramirez paused. “Okay.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah. I’m willing to give it a shot, do you wanna come over tonight and watch it?”

Bucky blinked blankly, as his brain processed what his ears had just heard. An invitation. From Ramirez? “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” He said, his brain immediately supplying the answer for him.

“Intrude? Barnes, I have absolutely no social life to speak of aside from our Tuesday lunches. Besides, if I’m going to watch this nonsense, I need the resident geezer of a 1940s variety to give me a little bit of context and background.”

“I’m going to regret saying that, aren’t I?” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“It’s very possible.” She said, barely containing a shit-eating grin. “Com’ on Barnes. It’ll be fun. I’ll make sopapillas.”

Bucky hesitated, thinking through the rest of his day. It wasn’t like he was super busy, he did have his routine. He would be going to the capitol for his usual brain check-up with the princess after he finished the feed route. After that, the evening was more or less open. What had he planned to do to occupy himself? Well, he had some reading to do, he was working through suggested Wikipedia articles and memoirs, then whenever he got sick of that or couldn’t concentrate, he’d maybe journal a bit. If he felt really ambitious, he’d watch a movie or listen to music, but that was only if his brain wasn’t louder than what he was trying to focus on. All of this would be alone, of course, but that’s what he was used to. He’d done that for two and half years, and in the month after he’d left cryo when Steve had returned to his life with the Secret Avengers. Alone was quiet. Alone was safe. Alone gave a relative amount of certainty to his life, where he otherwise struggled to achieve normality. Alone meant he wasn’t bothering Ramirez any more than his presence already did. Yet, he found that Tuesday lunches were the highlight of his otherwise solitary life, and from the sounds of it, might be Ramirez’s too. Perhaps he did need a friend more than he’d previously realized. Maybe they both did.

“Let me think about it.” He answered finally.

“Sure.” She shrugged, “movie starts at 7:30 with or without your sorry ass.”

“Understood. With or without my sorry ass.” Bucky replied in an exaggerated monotone.

Ramirez giggled, “Well when you say it that way, it sounds even _sorrier.”_

“Thanks for that, Ramirez.”

“No problem Barnes.”

They spent the rest of the lunch hour talking through both of the AFI greats movie lists. They had others, such as the top 100 Most Inspiring Films of all time, 100 Greatest movie quotes of all time, 100 greatest Romance movies, but for now, the top 100 Greatest American films of all time list was where Bucky was going to start. 

“So 7:30, Barnes.” Ramirez commented as they finished offloading the feed. ”If you’d decided to join me, that is,” She added quickly.

“I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Well, we need to exchange contact information. Do you have your kimoyo bracelet?”

“No.”

“Okay. Well, do you know your number?”

“Oh. no.” Bucky said.

“Naturally.” She chuckled. “Stay right there. I’m going to get a pen.”

“I actually have pretty good information retention.”

“I have no doubt, James Barnes. But I’m not going to give you the excuse of ‘I forgot,’” She chuckled as she walked back to the workshop.

She re-emerged a moment later with what looked like a felt-tipped pen and uncapped it as she approached. “Hand.” She instructed firmly, putting her left hand out.

Bucky rolled his eyes but did as she instructed, and placing his hand in her left palm watched as she carefully wrote out her number on the top of his hand in neat and tidy print. “Did you ever have to memorize a girls’ numbers back in the day?”

“No.”

“Oh. So this would be a first,” She chuckled, blowing gently on the drying ink.

“You could say that, sure.”

“Good, good.” She said, releasing her grasp on his wrist, and re-capping the pen.

“How’s the bracelet working out for you?” He motioned to her wrist with his chin.

“Oh," Ramirez said shortly, massaging her left wrist with her right hand. “I’ve had no fewer than three people ask we’re engaged, which I don’t think will be helped by writing my number on your arm. But the bracelet has helped some. See look.” She held both her hands up side by side, the left one had a tremor to it, but it wasn’t nearly as pronounced as it had been the weeks before. “Not so bad as before. Plus I have more feeling in my fingertips, and not feeling quite as achy. I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’m glad it’s working for you.” Bucky nodded. “Lunch was fun, thank you for your recommendations.”

“Of course. See you tonight?”

He hesitated, looking her over. “I dunno quite yet.” He admitted.

If she was disappointed or relieved, Ramirez’s expression didn’t show. “Well, if not, see you next week, same time, same place?”

“You can count on it.”

“Have a good one, Barnes.”

“You too, Ramirez.”

“Thanks,” She smiled, turning away and walking back to the workshop to return to her tasks for the day.

Taking his mule cart, he started back down the path and returned to his route and the rest of his day.

-

Maggie watched Barnes disappeared down the path that led him back to his feed route out of the corner of her eyes, and silently cursed at herself.

_Now,_ _why did I do that? _She wondered as the sound of his cart faded out of earshot. _ I thought I was going to let him control the parameters of our interaction, and now I’ve gone and invited the guy over to watch a movie._

Things had changed, they’d changed the moment they’d decided to hang out at the midwinter festival over a week ago. They’d moved from work friendship into an ambiguous, precarious state where it could either stay at impersonal work-friendship or they could find themselves develop an actual factual friendship.

Maggie didn’t mind the work-friendship. Your friendship began and ended when you clocked in and out. You were happy to bitch about your manager together, but you aren’t going to invite them to your weekend cookout. It limited topics of discussion to decidedly safe things, there was no real commitment, and you eventually parted ways when you left your position with the given company.

_You pathetic, sad little woman_.

She didn’t like to admit it, but she was lonely and sad. The fact that she’d enjoyed and thought about last week almost constantly was a testament to that fact.

No man should be an island, and even when she’d been at her lowest, she’d always had people there to help her carry her load, On Last Chance Ranch, she’d had her friends, volunteers, clients around that gave her a sense of normalcy and routines. With the Avengers, she’d had Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Becca, with their meetings, briefings, workouts, and lunches. They had all kept her from going completely out of her skull, even if she had been very close a few times.

Now she was here in Wakanda, and she had her work but not much else. That wasn’t to say she wasn’t grateful. She was. The King, Jelani, Teela, Sisay, and the Princess Shuri, they allowed her to have this little bit of normalcy. But she didn’t have friends. The Wakandans had been nothing but kind and generous, and she enjoyed Jelani and Sisay and Teela’s company, but they had their lives with their friends and social network. She was a guest at best, she wouldn’t inflict her presence on them any more than she already had. She worked with Jelani and Sisay, and Teela had been tremendously gracious with her time and energy, helping her adjust to life in Wakanda and the village. They were only doing it because their King had asked it of them. Not exactly the best basis to create friendships.

So she worked, and kept her head down, and tried not to make waves. It wasn’t much of a life, but it was better than being dead.

It might have even been doable if not for James Barnes.

It wasn’t his fault, it was the situation, the circumstances, it was the fact they had a history together, a number of mutual friends, and both knew a shit ton about one another without _really_ knowing the other person.

It was a recipe for disaster, but she was bored and lonely, and watching an old movie with the guy didn’t mean anything.

In context, It made sense.

_Which is why you’re thinking through the entire conversation you just had with him and analyzing everything._

Well, what else was she supposed to do? She had a lot of time on her hands. She had a safe, beautiful little house, a job, and a routine, but she didn’t have a _life_. Sometimes all you could do in that scenario was to analyze every interaction with the only other American in at least 1,000 square miles.

_Which is why you’ve invited James Barnes over to watch a movie._

She’d invited, he had yet to accept her invitation, but Maggie knew with some certainty she’d be a little disappointed if he didn’t show and she might be forced to watch Casablanca by herself.

That was a strange revelation. She wanted to be around him, she wanted to talk to him, she wanted to watch this stupid movie with him. That like it or not, there was a strange type of familiarity between them. Steve, Becca, and even Sam had created a common ground for them to explore. It connected them in a way that neither of them could deny. They were still on strange, and at times even awkward territory, but he had a quiet type of humor about him, and Maggie could admit that she had more than a little fun giving him shit.

_Yeah, a little shit, which is why you were being cutesy with the whole writing down your number on his hand, you may as well have signed it with little Xs and Os._

It had been the practical thing in the circumstances, and anyway, it wasn’t as if Barnes had minded.

_Right, like you could tell._

What did she expect him to do? Wrench his hand away like her touch physically pained him? It was always possible that he’d refrained from doing exactly that, that he’d go home and scrub the writing off.

Would he actually confirm with her one way or the other? It was anyone’s guess.

Maggie paused outside of her empty hut and sighed. Her brain was getting away from her. Whatever had happened, it ultimately didn’t matter. Whatever Barnes decided she’d abide. For better or worse. Which option was which, Maggie wasn’t entirely sure. Still, she had the nagging suspicion that despite herself, the company of James Barnes would be infinitely preferable to spending yet another evening alone.

-

Bucky found himself on his back yet again, starring at the ceiling of the Royal Wakandan Laboratory, the vaguest sensation of pine and mint lingering in the edge of his recollection as The Princess worked around him, the only sound in the lab was the Wakandan Hip hop she liked to play, though mercifully turned to low.

“So, any plans for this evening?” The princess inquired, breaking their customary silence while she scanned his brain.

Bucky paused, the peculiar innocence of her question, raising several alarms. “Not particularly, why?”

“You have Magdalene’s number written on your hand, and you seem to be thinking of her with relative frequency.”

“Oh.” Bucky glanced down at his hand, where Ramirez had indeed written her number. He frowned. “Wait, I thought you said you couldn’t see my thoughts.”

“I can’t. I’ve been mapping your brain activity. Certain areas of your brain light up in specific ways when you’re thinking about her. Same with Captain Rogers. Although, I only assume the thoughts are about Ms. Ramirez because you had your weekly Tuesday lunch with her.”

She wasn’t wrong, and yet it took Bucky everything he had not to roll his eyes. _Is there some sort of betting pool I’m unaware of, _Ramirez had asked in jest. At the moment, Bucky was beginning to think that she wasn’t too far from the truth.

“We aren’t trying to put you two together, singing songs in the grass so that you’ll kiss, Barnes.” The princess commented, shaking her head.

“Little mermaid?” Bucky ventured uncertainly.

“No. I mean, yes, I mean any number of Disney movies, but yes, close enough.” She said brusquely. “I only ask, because I’m glad you’re having regular human interactions with someone approximating your own age, and with key things in common.”

“Key things in common?”

“You’re both living and working as guests in my country. You’re both friends with Steve Rogers. I’m sure there are other things which you’ll only be able to find out if you spend more time together.” She commented.

“I thought you said I should minimize stimuli to allow my brain to heal.” He said lamely. Knowing that it was a cop-out, at the very best.

“Yes, for like three weeks to a month. I did not spend all that time putting your mind back together for you to isolate yourself from other people forever. If you wanted that, we could just stick you back in the deep freeze. You _need _to be around people and interact with people, not spend your free time moping. You need to _live_.”

“I’m not _moping, _and besides, who says she wants anything to do with me?” Bucky protested though he knew it was a losing battle.

“She wrote her number on your hand, James Barnes.” The princess said crossly. “That _obviously _indicates at least _some _interest on her part.”

This was true, yet he couldn’t help but get the feeling that Ramirez was only being hospitable out of some obligation to his sister and to Steve. Yet, the princess made a good point. Ramirez had been fairly adamant about why she didn’t want to watch Casablanca, or rather particularly why she didn’t like WWII era media. Then, she’d agreed to watch the movie shortly after he’d told her that he thought she might like it. He _did_ believe that she would like it, but for her to agree to give it a shot, and then invite him over to watch it with her, it did indicate a certain willingness to be in his presence beyond their Tuesday lunch hour. 

“Would it be so terrible to try to make friends with her, Barnes?” The princess continued when he didn’t respond.

_No. It wouldn__’t. _ “I don’t think that’s entirely up to me, Princess.” Bucky managed after a moment.

“Well, I think you should go watch the movie with her and find out.” She replied firmly.

“I’ll take that under advisement, provided you all stop trying to make Ramirez and me friends," Bucky said blandly.

“Okay, okay. But I stand by what I said, you shouldn’t be isolating yourself. Go out, live a little.” She replied.

They finished up the scan, and The princess sent him on his way after declaring that his brain was still fatty, wrinkly and that everything still looked just fine.

Bucky walked home engaged in a silent debate with himself the entire time. 

He should go watch it with her. He had to admit, beyond the simple question of watching a movie with Ramirez or not watching a movie with Ramirez, he was curious. Curious to know what she thought, curious to unpack her little rant about WWII, curious to know her as a person.

Was that strange? Bucky wasn’t sure. It should be strange, or at the very least it should feel strange, but it didn’t. He didn’t. In fact, he appreciated the very fact that he didn’t feel strange when contemplating a friendship with Ramirez, namely because she didn’t treat him like an oddity, like some kind of sideshow. Not that the Wakandans really did that. Sure, the kids asked their nosy questions, but otherwise, people were polite. There was a level of separation and the silent curiosity that shaded every interaction he had with people, but nothing that was unbearable or otherwise unexpected.

Bucky knew all about that, but from a lifetime ago and from a different perspective than the one he now inhabited. He’d grown up, after all, in the shadow of The Great War. His father had served and had invited some of his war buddies over to the house for dinner on occasion. He’d worked alongside veterans. He’d grown up seeing Veterans of The Great War, missing limbs, or some of their features. That had been easy for the young Bucky to understand why people spoke their names in hushed, often pitying tones.

It was when those same tones were used when discussing Veterans who didn’t have a scratch on them that Bucky, as a child, hadn’t understood. He remembered the horrible, empty, hollow expression that one of his father’s friends from the war had always given Bucky when he'd visited. Wally. His name was or had been. Wally had ended up hanging himself. Winifred Barnes had sent over meals for a month to Wally’s widow after the fact.

Shell-shock or War Fatigue, that’s what they’d called it and had only started to understand. They had a better name for it now and were starting to develop better treatments for it now, too. As a small child, Bucky had always wondered what could happen to a person to make them like that. Now he didn’t need to wonder. Instead, he struggled to remember a time he hadn’t been plagued by memories of battlefields, of blood and screaming, of death. Now, he was one of those people, one of those people that got whispered about, because of what had happened to him. One of those people who would’ve been talked about in sad, mournful tones, normally reserved for those in the past tense.

_I don’t like what war does to people._

That’s what she’d said, and of course, it only made sense to Bucky that she wouldn’t. She’d lost a husband, and friends, and clients to war and it’s lingering after-effects. She’d spent her professional life, up until the point that he’d ruined it, helping people like him. Was that was she was doing this? Was that why she was extending the hand of friendship to him? She knew in vivid detail what he was and what he’d been through. Was she trying, in her own way, to fix him out of perhaps some obligation to Steve or to Becca?

It didn’t feel that way. And he hoped, perhaps against all hope, that it wasn't the case.

Bucky sighed, shaking his head.

He didn’t know and knew he wasn’t likely to find out unless he accepted her movie invitation. The problem was he was tired. It wasn’t just that he’d not been sleeping well, which he hadn’t, but this was a sort of exhaustion, a sort of weariness of the soul. An exhaustion that he felt in his bones. He wasn’t sure if he could manage human interaction, at least not where his headspace was at the moment.

_If I could just get one good night’s sleep, then maybe I might have the energy for human interactions._

Bucky almost snorted at the very thought, although he wasn’t sure at what part of it. The prospect of getting a good night’s rest, or the idea that any amount of sleep might enable him to function like a “normal” human being. Both were totally laughable, but he knew Shuri was right. He needed regular interactions, but he didn’t want to insert himself into Wakandan social circles, where he would be a guest at the very best and an outsider at the very worst. Which left Ramirez. Was she in the same situation? Is that why she’d invited him over?

_The only way to find out is to accept the invitation and find out._

He arrived home and slipped on his kimoyo bracelet. Opening and carefully typing in Ramirez’s number, he hesitated.

_It’s not that hard. It shouldn’t be this hard. _Bucky silently chastised himself.

Taking a deep breath, he typed in the message, “I’m on for a movie @ 7:30. Should I bring something?” And he hit send before he could second guess himself and delete the message.

The message read as delivered, and Bucky held his breath, watching the “typing” bubble in the corner until her message came through. “Something to drink if you want something other than water. Otherwise, just yourself. 7:30 sharp, Barnes.”

He exhaled slowly. Well, that was that. He was _socially_ obligated now, and it would be even worse to cancel plans he’d confirmed than actually going. It was settled he was going to watch Casablanca with Ramirez.

-

Maggie stood over the pan, eyes fixed on the frying dough, her ear trained for the sound of approaching footsteps, doing her best not to think about what she had done to herself. _This was a mistake, you should never have extended the invitation. _

Barnes had accepted her invitation at a quarter to six, and Maggie had spent the entire hour since then panicking.

Why, exactly, she wasn’t sure, but as soon as she’d received his message, her heart rate had soared and she’d more or less decided that she’d rather be back in Juarez facing down the cartels, than hosting a social event. Sure it was just Barnes, and sure they had regularly been meeting every Tuesday for lunch, but it didn’t matter. Besides, Tuesday lunches were different. They were on neutral territory for a fixed amount of time, which was far different from an open-ended invitation to hang out and watch a movie.

_I’m making sopapillas for christ's sake. I wouldn’t do that for a Tuesday lunch get together._

She flipped over the dough and watched the golden-brown dough crackle and glisten with grease in the evening sun. The torches that illuminated the small are around her hut would turn on soon, the night would take over, and it would be time. 

Maggie checked the time, 7:45. _He’s late._ She wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved or disappointed. Anyway, if he _didn’t_ show up, what the hell was she going to do with all of these sopapillas? She’d made six of them, but would probably only eat two or three, at the very most.

_I wonder if Tee or Jelani would be interested...had something happened? Why had he changed his mind? Would he call? Text? Or just wait until next Tuesday to explain. Would he show back up at all? Or have I overstepped some unknown, unseen boundary, and now he never wanted to talk to me again?_

Maggie shook her head, removing the golden-brown squares of dough from the oil, set them aside to drain and cool. She’d even found some Wakandan honey for the occasion. _Oh well. More for me, I guess._

“What happened to starting the movie at 7:30 sharp, Ramirez? With or without my sorry ass, I believe was the expression you used.”

It took Maggie everything she had not to jump out of her skin, but she hadn’t heard his approach.

_Damn. How the hell did he do that?_ _He's the winter Soldier you moron._

Maggie turning around, she found James Barnes strolling casually up the path toward her hut. “I lost track of time, what’s your excuse?” She said, doing her best to sound light-hearted and as much at ease as she could manage.

“I was on a mission.” He admitted hesitantly. Stopping as he reached the fire pit where she was working he, opened the satchel he had slung across his chest and removed a small little pouch, which he extended to her carefully.

Wordlessly, Maggie took it in both hands, and untied the drawstring, glancing inside. “Corn kernels? You found popcorn?” She asked, glancing between Barnes, who wore an uncertain expression, and the small little bag of kernels she was holding.

“Not indigenous to Wakanda. Apparently, King T’Challa’s father, King T’Chaka, was a fan of American Cinema, and imported popcorn plant specimens and had some of the farmers carefully cultivate some, so as not to introduce any sort of invasive species. I had to ask around a bit, but was able to procure some kernels for our movie night, this evening.” He explained seriously. “Because what’s a movie without popcorn?”

Maggie opened and closed her mouth, totally stunned. _How fucking thoughtful. This is unbelievable. What the hell?_

“Thank you, Barnes.”

“So, I hope that excuses my tardiness.”

Maggie surveyed his expression. Was he joking? Was he being serious? Was he being aloof? She couldn’t be certain, but a smile spread across her face. “It will. Only if you agree to make the popcorn. I’m a tad rusty.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He nodded firmly. “Do you mind if I?” He motioned to his bag.

“Not at all, make yourself comfortable. As promised, I made sopapillas and even found Wakandan honey for the occasion.”

“I look forward to trying them.” He replied as he set his bag down and glanced around. “Pot with lid, oil, and salt?”

“Yeah, sure. Let me get this pan off the fire.” Maggie said, moving quickly replaced the pan with a pot, setting out the oil and salt on the small preparation table beside the cooking fire.

“You excited?” Barnes asked as he worked, diligently adding the oil, kernels, and salt to the pot, covering it, and placing it over the fire.

“About?”

“Casablanca?’ He answered without looking up at her.

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Yes.” She managed. _That. _She’d nearly forgotten that they were going to be watching a movie together, mostly she’d just been hung up on the idea that he was coming over to hang out with her after working hours.

“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming, Ramirez.”

“Was still a little hung up on the idea that you brought popcorn for us.” She said, “And If I’m honest, I’m probably _more_ excited about the popcorn than I am the movie. But that’s just because I love food. And the combination of the sweet sopapillas and the salty popcorn is going to be _AMAZING._” Maggie caught herself before she could outright giggle, but the sound she made was somewhere between a cough and a laugh, and Barnes looked her over with something between curiosity and amusement.

Mercifully he didn’t say anything. “I was thinking about the last movie I saw in theaters. What was the last movie you saw in theaters?”

“Oh. Jeeze, you would have to ask that.” Maggie chuckled. Pausing, she closed her eyes, straining to remember the sound of popping from the pot, making it hard to focus. “Disney’s Brave, I believe.” She stopped. “Oh.”

“What?”

“Suzanne dragged me out of the house to see it.” _After Riley died._ She had to stop herself from saying it. Maggie opened her eyes and shaking her head.

“Should I add it to the list?” Barnes asked uncertainly as he removed the popcorn from over the fire and set it down on the table beside the sopapillas.

“Oh. It’s a fun little movie, but not one of my favorites. What about you?”

“Laura. I think.” He answered.

“Oh. I’ve seen that one! It’s great!” Maggie said.

“Really? I thought you didn’t like 1940s media.”

“I didn’t say that. I don’t like WWII media. If I’m remembering the same film, it's not WWII related, at all. Is it the one where Laura is “killed," and the detective is trying to find out who killed her, and then she ends up not actually being dead?”

“That would be the one.”

“It has one of my favorite lines. ‘You ever known a woman who wasn’t a doll or dame detective McPherson?’” Maggie said in her best Clifton Webb impersonation. She giggled, shaking her head. “My girlfriend, at the time, Margaret convinced me to watch it. For Halloween, actually.”

Barnes opened his mouth to respond, but stopped, closing his mouth promptly.

“Didn’t expect that one did you?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You didn’t both go by Maggie, did you?”

Now it was her turn to be surprised. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before shutting it.

“Didn’t expect that one did you?” Barnes echoed, also raising an eyebrow.

Maggie chuckled, “No. Actually. But to answer your question, she went by her full name, and I was either Maggie or Mags. But I can imagine how confusing it would’ve been if we’d both gone by Maggie.”

“I can imagine.” He paused, a look of hard contemplation crossing his face. Maggie braced for whatever was next before he spoke. “And the line is ‘did you ever know a woman who wasn’t a doll or a dame?’ I _do _remember that much.”

She smiled, the tension in her chest easing slightly. “Okay, okay. I defer to you as to the accuracy, but I’ll maintain my version is superior. Did you like the movie at the very least?”

“I did.”

“Well. Let’s find out if you’re right.”

“Right?”

“See if I’m going to like Casablanca.”

“Right.”

“Come on. Bring the popcorn. We’re going to sit inside if that’s okay. I set up a screen and will project it from one of my kimoyo beads. I’ve made sopapillas as promised, and have Wakandan honey to put on top. Otherwise, you’re just going to get a wad of fried dough.” She explained picking up the plate of sopapillas and honey, and he followed her into her small hut with the popcorn. “Provided you don’t mind sitting on my mat.” She commented, sinking down easily onto the floor.

“Not at all.” He shook his head, pausing he glanced her over.

From her vantage point on the floor, Maggie watched Barnes struggle as he contemplated where exactly he should sit. Doing the same algebra, and reaching similar conclusions, Maggie moved the plate of sopapillas to her left, and following suit, Barnes sat down to her left, setting the pot of popcorn between them.

“Pillows and blankets can be provided upon request. Let me know.” She commented as she set up the kimoyo bead and began to project the film.

"I should be fine. The movie isn't that long." He replied, picking up a spoonful of honey and drizzling it over one of the sopapillas.

“Well, here goes nothin'.” She said as she pressed play.

The Warner Brother’s logo came up and then the 1940s black and white map. Maggie couldn’t help but watch Barnes out of the corner of her peripheral vision. He was here. They’d had a _relatively _normal conversation. They were going to watch a movie while eating homemade snacks, and somehow despite herself, she was having a lovely time. Was he having a good time? She could only guess. Were they becoming friends? Only time would tell. But the whole thing hadn’t felt awkward, even though it probably should. Instead, it had felt natural, had felt almost normal. What it meant, Maggie would discover later, but for now, Casablanca.

_But the others wait in Casablanca...and wait...and wait...and wait._

-

_“Louie, have your man go with Mr. Lazlo, and take care of his luggage.” _

Bucky glanced over at Ramirez, her eyes were glued to the screen, the flicking light of the screen, reflecting in her eyes. She absently chewed on the popcorn as she watched, seemingly totally engrossed. He’d forgotten quite a bit of the film since he’d first watched it, and it still held up even now over seventy years later, but what made the whole thing worthwhile was Ramirez’s reactions to the movie with her eye-rolling and frustrated groaning at all the key moments. They’d eaten the Sopapillas in the first act, and now they were working through the ample supply of popcorn, but mostly, Bucky was watching Ramirez.

He’d felt bad about arriving late, but apparently, Ramirez hadn’t minded. She’d been very enthusiastic about the popcorn, more so than he’d expected, but the whole exchange about her ex-girlfriend had been, _strange,_ to say the very least. It had taken him off guard how open and blasé she’d been about mentioning a girlfriend. Yet, Bucky found that logically it made sense, she hadn’t made a fuss or a big deal over the fact that he’d had relationships with both Steve and Natasha, and the way he’d understood it, through Steve, Ramirez and Sam had been in a polyamorous triad with Riley, prior to his death. Still, the fact that she’d felt comfortable enough to out herself, to him, in such a relaxed and casual way, there was something about that made Bucky’s chest warm.

Other than their briefly awkward exchange, the evening was going well, he would argue. He’d even made her laugh. She had seemed a little tense when he’d first arrived, but that had quickly dissipated, and now her whole demeanor was relaxed. Her braid had almost completely unwound itself, and her hair fell over her face. Her rigid posture had melted into something softer, her shoulder’s less tense, her jaw not quite as clenched, her eyes and mouth bent in natural smiles and laughs.

_“You’re saying this only to make me go!”_

_“_ _I’m saying it because it’s true. Inside of us we both know you belong with Victor, you’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it.”_

“Lord," Ramirez said, her Texan twang thick with sarcasm.

_“Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.”_

_“_ _But what about us?” _

“Oh, Honey.” Ramirez rolled her eyes before taking another handful of popcorn from the bottom of the pot.

_“_ _We’ll always have Paris. We didn’t have, we’d lost it, until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.”_

_“_ _I said I would never leave you.”_

“Oye.” She scoffed.

_“_ _And you never will. But I’ve got a job to do too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I've got to do you can’t be any part of. Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you’ll understand that. Now, now...here’s looking at you, kid.”_

“Jeezus Christ.” She muttered. She glanced over at him, catching his gaze. A faint blush rose on her cheeks, and she quickly fastened her eyes back on the screen.

Bucky smiled to himself. As he’d said before, it wasn’t a bad bit of propaganda. He’d watched it, and generally enjoyed it when it had come out in theaters. He could certainly see how people would continue to like it even after the war ended. People loved a rogue, and Rick was undoubtedly that. Ramirez’s reactions, however, had added a whole new element to the viewing process. What she reacted to and why were surprising, compared to what he thought might draw a reaction from her.

_“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”_ The music swelled La Marseilles blared, and “THE END” came up on the screen.

Ramirez stopped the film, the hut dropped into silence, and the dim lights of the hut flickered on, giving everything an orange tinge. She starred at the wall a moment, chewing the inside of her mouth. Bucky watched her expectantly. “So...?”

“Give me a minute,” She answered distantly. After several beats of silence, she turned to him, her tone all business. “I think all of this could be solved with Polyamory. Understanding that Ilsa was both in love with Lazlo and Rick, in different ways, would’ve solved the _whole_ situation, with, of course, the exception of the Nazi problems. ”

“Yeah. They tend to be a _little_ more difficult to deal with.”

“Historically, a bullet has been a pretty good solution.”

“Well, you’re not _wrong._”

Ramirez chuckled. “But yeah. Otherwise, it was a fairly compelling plot. I personally couldn’t wear Ilsa’s wardrobe, but I am seriously envious of it.” She paused, glancing over at him. “So I gotta ask, why you’d think it’d like it?”

“Oh.” Bucky should’ve expected this, and had an answer prepared. He had thought she’d like it this afternoon, but he really had just had a hunch, now he had to come up with something more substantial. “Because it’s about people making the best out of a shitty situation.” He blurted out.

“And that’s something you think I’d know all bout, huh?”

“I wasn’t going to say that. I just figured you’d appreciate it.”

“True. Although you have to admit, it was some good ole’ fashioned American anti-isolationist propaganda.”

“It is. Does that tarnish your opinion of it?”

“Not entirely. I’m not about to tar all WWII movies with the same brush...well not completely. It was a good movie, but I’m not sure if it’s something that I’d watch repeatedly.” She paused, thinking a moment. “You’re obscenely old, right?”

“In theory, yes. What’s your point?”

“What does ‘here’s looking at you kid’ actually mean? Other than being terribly condescending for Rick to be calling a grown woman kid. I mean, like I get that, it’s a toast, but what does it mean, like really mean?”

“It means what it means.” Bucky shrugged.

“That’s not a real answer, and you know it, Barnes," Ramirez said, her face scrunched up in a playful frustration.

“You said it yourself, it’s a toast. A way to commend someone. What do you want me to say?” Bucky paused and cracked a small, almost maniacal smirk. “I’ll have to use it so you can see how it works, ‘contextually,'" He said as he made air quotes with his hand.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Both?”

“Oh no, I can’t handle that level of cheesy nonsense in my life, James Barnes.” Ramirez shook her head, wagging her right pointer finger at him, a broad grin on her face.

“Can’t or won't?”

“Both.”

“I see.”

Ramirez giggled, “You’re a menace, Barnes.” She shook her head, freeing her hair from the last remains from the braid of the day, allowing it to fall freely over her shoulders and down her back. The ends of it landing near her waist.

“I do my best.”

“I’m sure.”

There was a pause in the conversation as they both surveyed one another. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was smiling, her expression open and honest, her dark eyes warm and kind as she watched him, her pupils larger than usual because of the dim light. They looked darker than the night sky, and the lights of the hut reflected in them like stars. Her dark hair framed her face and ended near her waist so that it looked like a dark shawl in the dim light. Realizing he was staring, Bucky cleared his throat, glancing around. “So. What’s next on the list?”

“The Godfather.”

“Which you said you didn’t want to watch.”

“Yes, well, but given I just sat through number two, I should, for the sake of completion, watch number three," Ramirez faltered. “I mean if that’s okay. I mean, if you _want_ to include me in your watching marathon.” She stammered, a blush only further flushing her cheeks.

“Well," Bucky said slowly in contemplation while his brain silently screamed '_She wants to watch another movie with me?'_ "I guess we should decide what list we’re going to use. The 1998 or 2007 one?”

“Well, we’ve started the ‘98 list, _technically_.”

“_Technically_, it doesn’t matter.”

“True.” She laughed, “Umm, the newer one would have more films I’m familiar with.”

“Should that be a bonus or a detractor.”

“Yanno, I don’t know, I watched like five movies on rotation for years, and old tape recorded telenovelas.”

“Which five movies.”

“Oh, no, I’m not outing myself like that.” Ramirez shook her head.

Well, now he was even more curious, but Bucky knew better than to push his luck. “Okay. So. I propose a more holistic approach.”

“All right. I’m down for being more holistic. What’s the plan then, Barnes?”

“We switch off between lists, cross off what one list covers if we’ve watched.”

“Okay, sounds reasonable. We counting Citizen Kane done?”

“Yeah. I’m not going to put anyone through that again. If I’m feeling nostalgic, maybe, but I won’t inflict it upon you.”

“Well, don’t hurt yourself, Barnes.” She snorted. “So, our next one is The Godfather?”

“It would appear so.”

“So. When and where?” 

“Friday? My place?” Bucky suggested.

“That sounds good. You’ll have to give me co-ordinates unless you plan on extracting me from the jungle again.”

“Yeah, I’d rather not.”

They tapped their wrists together, and the kimoyo bracelet buzzed, indicating the data exchange. “Awesome. So what time do you want me?” Ramirez commented as she pulled up the coordinates to his hut, and programmed them into her bracelet.

“7:30 pm works for me.”

“Okay, so it’s a date.” She stopped. “I mean, not a date. I mean-”

Was he making her flustered? It appeared so. And against his better judgment, he enjoyed watching her being more awkward than he felt constantly. Still, it felt a little mean to let her continue like this. “I’ll see you then.” He interrupted her mid stammer.

“Yeah. Is there anything you want me to bring?”

“If you want to make sopapillas again. Otherwise, I think I can handle popcorn.” 

“Understood.”

Then without further discussion, they both rose, brushed themselves off and collecting the dirty dishes headed back out into the night air.

“This was fun, Ramirez. Thank you for entertaining 1940s media.” He said as she took the popcorn pot from him.

“Thank you for entertaining my asinine questions.” She nodded appreciatively.

“They weren’t asinine.” Bucky protested. “Although Steve would’ve been able to answer them better than I did.”

“I thought you did just fine, James Barnes.” She chuckled and they both paused.

“I should head back. Thank you again, this was fun.”

“Thank you. Let me know when you make it back.”

“Why?”

“So, I know if I should send out the Wakandan National guard of what have you.” She smiled. “It’s a long walk back, it’ll help me sleep better to know you’ve made it and haven’t been eaten by panthers or anything.”

“I appreciate your concern, Ramirez. I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Sounds good.”

“Night.”

“Night.” She called after him as he walked away.

Bucky could sense her watching him as he walked down the path and out of sight. So she’d enjoyed the film. That had been a relief, on a personal and social level. The entirety of the evening had been less socially award than he’d expected. He’d enjoyed himself, but that seemed the going trend with him and Ramirez, or at least how it appeared.

Whistling the La Marseilles’s as he walked back under the clear Wakandan night sky, Bucky wondered what Steve was doing. Was he safe? Was he sleeping, or was he awake on first or even second watch? He certainly wasn’t watching movies from the “good ole days” in a remote corner of Africa. Bucky wondered what Steve, or Romanoff, or even Wilson would’ve said in response to what had just transpired. They’d probably give him shit, Steve _especially _would’ve given him shit, since he and the other commandos had entertained long rambling conversations about the movie during the war. But that was okay, Bucky decided, he wouldn’t mind being given a little shit.

He paused outside, overlooking the lake, taking in some of the warm evening air. He was going to be seeing Ramirez again, and soon. They were going to watch The Godfather. There would hopefully be more opportunities than just the one on Friday, but it was a start. It was a start, a chance, an opportunity for friendship. 

A broad smile passed over his face, it came fast and was gone just as quickly, but nevertheless, for a fraction of a moment, it had existed. “Well.” He chuckled to himself. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's fun! I hope you had as much fun reading this as I had writing it! The AFI lists are available online for anyone who is interested. I took a film class back in high school, and my instructor referenced the AFI lists. I think it is fascinating to see what is on the list v.s. what didn't make the cut. What movies are your favorite? What Films do you think Bucky and Maggie would enjoy? Or would dislike for that matter? As always, comments, kudos, and subscriptions are welcome and pleasing to the plot bunnies. As always! Happy Reading! It may be two weeks before I can post again (I will post if I'm able). I have some real-world stuff going on and want to make sure I can get my chapter into a condition I'm happy with.
> 
> A little bit of behind the scenes for those of you who may have missed it last week!  
https://spacecasewriter13.tumblr.com/post/189001808085/how-one-fic-became-four-otherwise-known-as-oh-no
> 
> Happy Reading!


	9. Never Gonna Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: Happy by Pharrell Williams; In the Mood by Glenn Miller; Sing Sing Sing by Louis Prima; Stardust by Willie Nelson; Into the Night by Santana ft. Chad Kroeger; Never Gonna Dance by Fred Astaire
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/1253302637/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=lvFfzVAjRBGzgz9riCb1mA

‘_Because I’m Happy, Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof...’ _

Bucky heard the music long before he’d made it to the source, echoing out a fair distance up the path from Jelani’s workshop, and likely to the culprit of the noise. He’d been by yesterday for the usual feed delivery and their Tuesday lunch. Not like they hadn’t seen one another since last Tuesday. After Casablanca, they’d watched The Godfather on Friday and then started Raging Bull on Monday. They’d had to stop about halfway through, and reading the synopsis decided that highly acclaimed film or not, it wasn’t worth their time.

Then yesterday, during their usual lunch hour, they’d made plans to watch Gone With the Wind next, though they hadn’t pinned down a time. Now he’d been sent on an errand by Omondi, and Bucky had been unable to reach either Ramirez or Jelani, and he had a feeling he knew why.

He stopped as he came up the path to the workshop where Ramirez was working. Well, Bucky couldn’t exactly call what she was doing work. Instead, she was dancing, utterly unaware of his presence. She hadn’t heard his approach, and so she danced and sang to herself, belting out the lyrics gleefully. It was a private, almost intimate moment as he watched as she was completely vulnerable and open, without any inhibitions. A moment, he was wrongfully witnessing and intruding upon.

“So, that’s what you kids call dancing nowadays?” Bucky said, loud enough to pierce through the din and announce his presence.

Ramirez jumped, startled. Wheeling around to face him, she turned off the music. “Jeezus Barnes, how long have you been standing there?” She gasped, her cheeks tinged pink, her chest heaving from the momentary fright.

“Long enough to realize how long I’ve been out of the world.” He answered vaguely as he took a few steps toward her. “Damn. I’m old.” He shook his head, chuckling to himself.

“Obscenely.” She agreed, walking from the workshop to where he was standing under the tree where they usually met for lunch on Tuesdays, eyeing him curiously.

“So I take it you go out to night clubs and do...that?” Bucky continued, just to see if her blush would spread to the rest of her face and the tips of her ears like Steve.

Instead, she raised an eyebrow. “What are you implying, exactly?” Ramirez answered skeptically, though, with a heavy dose of good humor.

“Nothing.” He shrugged, as innocently as he could manage.

She snorted, shaking her head. “Well. Fair is fair, Barnes. How exactly did you “kids” dance back in the day?”

“We danced.”

“No, Shit. Let’s see it.”

“What? Right now?” He asked, glancing around.

“Not scared, are you?” A huge grin spread over her face.

“What? No. No. I happen to be missing some essential prerequisites.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Such as?” She led expectantly.

“An arm for one, and a partner who knows what they’re doing for two," Bucky answered, hoping that the hint would be enough for her to drop it.

“James Barnes, I’m hurt you think so little of me.”

“After that?” He motioned vaguely, “shouldn’t I?”

“Ouch!” She threw her hand against her chest, melodramatically. “You cut me deep, Barnes. You cut me real deep.”

“You’re funny," Bucky said dryly.

“But Seriously. Show me your moves, how hard could it be?”

Was that a dare? He was almost sure it was. He paused, licking his lips. Well, this had certainly taken an unexpected turn. God, how long had it been? 70-75 years or so. It would be fun, something from the old days, something familiar. He starred down, trying to think through the logistics. The left hand and arm did the hard work. The right arm was basically for balance.

_I could reverse it. Use the right hand for everything, and she’ll just have to balance herself._

Then there was teaching her the steps. Sure he’d done it with Steve, a million years ago, but that had been when he’d had both arms, and he wouldn’t have to reverse engineer the entire thing twice over. It was one thing to mirror or flip which direction you were going. It was another thing to teach it. Bucky looked up at her, meeting her dark, expectant gaze. “Alright. Alright, fine. But if we’re going to do this, you’re going to have to step on my toes.”

“I thought we wanted to avoid that,” She said with a pronounced twang.

“So I can show you the steps," Bucky replied shortly.

“No. What am I five?” Ramirez shook her head, removing her work gloves, she shoved them in her back pocket, brushing her hands off.

“I taught Becca how to dance that way. It works.”

“What? When she was five?”

“No. She was twelve.”

“Not better, Barnes.” She laughed.

He examined her expression. Was she laughing at him? At his discomfort? He could feel it coming off him in waves. He hadn’t done this in 75 years, to begin with, never mind with only one arm. Now here he was, and she was being like _this._ Was it just to watch him squirm? Did she know what she was doing? What she was asking?

“Forget it.” He said. “It was a stupid idea, anyway.”

“Hey," Ramirez said, her tone more gentle now, she took a step toward him. “Just show me the steps. We can practice it a few times and go from there.”

“It’s not that...it’s just...” He couldn’t quite verbalize it, but it just felt dumb. Like he was trying to prove something to himself, to her, that he could still do what old Bucky could do.

“Hey.” She repeated, she reached out to put her hand on his shoulder, but stopped, letting it fall back down by her side. “This will be fun. Let it be fun.”

Bucky looked her up and down. She didn’t appear to be making fun of him, she looked like she was actually serious, that she did want him to teach her, that she was curious and did want to know how he danced back in the day.

“Okay.” He exhaled, “okay, okay.” He nodded, running his fingers through his hair. “So, the steps are step, step, rock step, then repeat. In any normal circumstance, the man would lead to his left, your right but-”

“So to my left, then?”

“Yeah.” Bucky took another deep breath. “So yeah, let’s practice that.”

He took her left hand in his right, and she placed her right hand firmly on his left shoulder. The familiarity of the action would have been comforting if he hadn’t had to lead. “Okay, on my count," Bucky said, and Ramirez nodded. “Step,” he stepped the wrong way, and Ramirez let out a laugh as he stepped on her foot.

“Maybe I should step on your toes so you won’t step on mine.” His face flushed a deep scarlet. She cleared her throat, smoothing out her expression. “One bad start isn’t the end of the world. Let’s go again.”

He counted off again, and this time used the correct foot, and they slowly worked their way around the barn. Ramirez focused down on her feet, chanting along as he said the steps in time. “So, there you have it.” He said as they came to a stop. He let go of her hand, wiping his sweating palm on his pant leg.

_You could’ve done this in your sleep back in the day, what’s wrong with you Barnes? _

_Seventy-five years and one twice amputated arm._ The bitting little voice in the back of his head answered.

“Well, that was fun, can we try it with music? Something up-tempo?” Her voice brought him back

Bucky surveyed her. She looked so sincere. It would’ve been very nearly endearing had he not been totally on edge. “You have something in mind?” He asked dryly.

“I’m more than a little partial to Glenn Miller’s In the Mood.” She replied.

“Miller?” He echoed skeptically. She was a beginner, at absolute best, and she wanted to attempt “In the Mood?” This was only going to end in utter catastrophe. 

“Yeah. Why?”

Bucky could’ve suggested any number of slower songs to start with if it had been 70 years ago, but now his mind drew a blank. _Damn. _“That’s a bit fast, don’t you think?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, trying to save them the shame and embarrassment this was surely going to cause.

“You’re a good teacher.” She smiled warmly. “I trust you.”

_Trust. _Right. That. She trusted him, how could she? Why would she?

“What’ll it hurt?” She supplied uncertainly.

_A lot. It could hurt a lot. _He wanted to say, but he couldn’t, and so he didn’t. Instead, he cleared his throat. Exhaling sharply, he managed an, “Alright then, you ready?” He looked down at her. Her whole body language had changed. She looked focused, yes, but there was something about her that looked...he couldn’t quite put a name to it. Eager? Perhaps. Determined? Certainly. But something, almost mischievous, danced on her expression.

“Yes.”

“All right, In the Mood by Glenn Miller, it is,” He said, watching as she keyed it up on the Kimoyo bracelet, listening as the familiar tones began to filter through the speakers and fill the air around him.

At this, Ramirez extended her hand to him, which he took, and she placed her right hand on his shoulder again, just liked they’d practiced. He wished she wasn’t looking at him like that, all trust and enthusiasm and willing, like this wasn’t going to end anything other than embarrassment and disaster.

“I follow your lead.” She said, a smile in the corner of her mouth.

Bucky nodded, and they began. Mercifully he started on the correct foot and counted as they moved, watching their feet to make sure he didn’t step on hers. Ramirez, it seemed, moved almost effortlessly, responding to his verbal and non-verbal cues. “You’re a quick-” He looked up and met her gaze. “You’ve done this before.” He said.

Her demure smile spread into a wide grin. “Once or twice.” She coughed politely, smoothing her expression.

Bucky nodded, wordlessly looking back down at his feet, watching as they moved. _Once or twice. _It felt like a gut punch.

She moved with confidence and ease. She’d clearly done this more than just a handful of times. So why hadn’t she told him? Why hadn’t she said something? Had she been waiting to see what he’d do, being down an arm? Was this some kind of private joke or prank? Had she felt sorry for him? Bucky didn’t know, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone, never mind someone like Ramirez pitying him.

_I trust you. _She’d said.

What could she possibly mean by that? There were no stakes in this. She knew what she was doing. She didn’t have to trust him for anything. Was she saying she trusted him not to hurt her? Trusted him to know how to lead? Trusted him not to make a complete ass of himself? Why would she tell him that she trusted him but not tell him that she knew how to swing dance?

His mind spun, and he could feel a sourness at the back of his throat.

The song ended, and they stopped, stepping backward away from one another, Bucky practically wrenching his hand away.

If she noticed anything, Ramirez didn’t say anything. Instead, she chuckled, muttering, “God, its been forever since I’ve done that,” more to herself than to him.

Looking back up at her, Bucky watched for any hint of sarcasm. He found that there was none, not a trace or hint of it anywhere in her expression, her tone. She was serious. Beyond just that, there was a sort of tenderness, a sort of softness to her voice that took him aback.

“When was the last time you danced?” He asked. It was the best compromise he could come up with, rather than asking, ‘why didn’t you tell me you could dance?’

“Oh. It’s been a while. Since before, Riley died. Of course, he was the reason that I learned. Sam and I took swing lessons with Riley for a 1940s themed military ball back before we were married.” She answered. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I remembered _how_ to dance like that. Thanks for the refresher, Barnes.” Ramirez smiled.

Bucky nodded. Trying to find his way through the rush of emotions he was feeling. He felt oddly on edge like Ramirez was making fun of him somehow, but that wasn’t the case at all. She wouldn’t? Would she?

_Why does it matter, Barnes? Why do you care?_

Because he wanted Ramirez to be his friend, he realized. Because he didn’t want her to be one of those people that whispered behind his back as he went past. He wanted something _normal _in his life, and a friendship between him and Ramirez was about as normal as things might get for him, despite how abnormal their entire situation might be. He wanted that, but he also knew how impossible it all might be.

“Was that your first dance since 1945?” Ramirez asked her voice, pulling him out of his head.

“Yeah.” He nodded, bracing himself for whatever comment was to follow.

“You dance very well. You’re an excellent leader. When I was learning with Riley and Sam, neither of them could ever quite get the hang of leading.”

_I’m an excellent leader, really? _That had been nothing compared to when he’d been in his prime, before all of _this._ “You’re a good follower.” Bucky managed.

“Really?” Genuine surprise crossed her face. “I’ve always been told that I’m a horrible follower, from when my brother taught me to two-step when I was about six, all the way through proper dance lessons with Riley and Sam.”

“You did pretty well, following a guy with one arm.” He said, his voice dripping in self-deprecating sarcasm.

“Rather a guy with one arm, than one with two left feet.” She chuckled, not unkindly. “All things considered? I think we both did rather well.” Pausing, she cocked to the side as the first notes of Sing, Sing, Sing (With a Swing) started to play. “Oooh.” She cooed. “This is a good one.”

“You want to go again?” Bucky asked hesitantly, not sure if her reaction was an indication of willingness.

Ramirez raised an eyebrow, “Is that an offer, James Barnes?”

He hesitated. Did he? Did he want to go again? Give it another shot, now that he knew Ramirez wasn’t a beginner, and that she might be able to handle going that fast. “Sure.” He extended his hand to her, which she took, smiling.

They were able to fall easily into rhythm. The song was, of course, as uptempo as you could get without it being ridiculous. Soon they were moving at some speed around the clearing under the tree, and Ramirez twirled and spun around him with ease. Bucky’s mind worked in double time, trying to remember as much as he could and compensate for his missing limb simultaneously. The music blared, and Ramirez laughed breathless as they moved at a nearly frantic pace for two people so clearly out of practice, only a step or two away from total calamity. Yet, Ramirez didn’t hesitate as he led her, totally trusting that he would catch her, that he wouldn’t lead her astray.

Then he heard it before he realized what was happening. “SHit!” Ramirez screeched, reaching out to try to correct she grabbed a wad of his scarf, and they were both topping toward the ground.

Bucky braced, turning his body so he wouldn’t land on top of her and rolled away as they both hit the ground. “Music off!” Ramirez groaned, and the music faded into silence.

“You alright?” Bucky asked, lifting himself into a sitting position. “Ramirez?” He turned to her

She lay flat on her back with a slightly dazed expression on her face, her chest heaving. Then much to his surprise, she started to laugh uncontrollably. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed a deep-chested, nearly full-body laugh. Tears streamed down her face as she gasped for air between peals of laughter. Bucky sat frozen, unsure if he should call for help. “I-I-I’m o-ok-okay!” She gasped out, trying to catch her breath. She wiped at her face with the heels of her hands, her breath shuddering as the laughter subsided.

Her face was flushed as she sucked in air in large heaving gulps, but there was a massive grin on her face, her eyes closed, a relaxed near peaceful aura exuded from her. Bucky sat beside her, watching as she collected herself, lying in the dirt flat on her back in the middle of the yard. “I think that might be the closest to flying that I’m ever going to get," She commented breathlessly, but offered no further explanation. Then after a moment, Ramirez sat up. “Sorry about that.” She winced, rubbing the back of her head gingerly. “You okay there, Barnes?”

“Ye-yes?” He stammered, surprised by her inquiry. “Why?”

“I did pull you to the ground, and then burst into hysterics. That’s more than enough reason to ask you if you’re all right.” She said, brushing off her sleeves and picking grass from her clothes and hair. “So, you all right?”

“Yeah.” Bucky managed with a little bit more of a convincing tone. She was worried? About hurting or upsetting him? He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea, particularly since that even down an arm, he could probably still seriously injure, if not kill her. It wasn’t something that he _liked _thinking about, but it was the reality of the situation. Yet, here they were, Ramirez was asking if she had hurt him.

“So. Now that I’ve sidetracked you completely. Did you need something? Or were you just here to judge my dancing skills?”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” Bucky said, remembering why he’d initially been sent. “Omondi needed to borrow a couple of tools from Jelani.”

“That’s right, Jelani did tell me that Omondi might be sending someone by. I didn’t know it was going to be you.” She commented, rising to her feet, doing her best to brush the dirt and grass off her clothing. “Let me get those for you.” She said, rushing back into the workshop.

“Omondi and his village are going to slaughter and roast some of the herd tonight, in honor of the King’s birthday. He asked me to pass along the invitation to you, and Jelani and his family to join him.” Bucky called, hoping that his voice was carrying over the sound of bumping and crashing noises coming from the workshop.

“Jelani and Sisay mentioned something about that before they left on their house call.” She answered, from somewhere out of his direct line of sight.

“So you’ll come?” He asked, wincing at the overeager hopefulness in his voice. “I mean if you want. You don’t have to if you have something else going on. Just thought I’d offer.”

“I was thinking about it. It’s been a while since I’ve had cabrito.” Ramirez mercifully interjected into his ramblings as she re-emerged from the shed, carrying a small tool bag in both hands. “Here you are.” She said, stopping a few feet in front of him and extending the pouch to him.

“Thanks.” He took it from her, adjusting the weight in his hand. Bucky stopped, watching Ramirez curiously as she ran her foot over the dirt as if looking for something.

“Ah, ha! There it is.” She looked up at him, an expression of triumph across her face. “The only major dip in this entire patch of ground, and I find it with my foot while going approximately 100 miles an hour.”

“Approximately?” Bucky echoed.

“Yeah, approximately,” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Again, thank you for humoring me. It’s been a long while since I’ve danced with anyone. Really, Barnes, I appreciate your patience and willingness.”

Bucky nodded slowly, still feeling on edge, still feeling like he was being made the butt of some joke, but also feeling less so than he had before. “You’ll have to teach me some of your moves, sometime, Ramirez.”

“You can count on it.” She said, her grin widening. “But I’ll let you get back to it. See you tonight?”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” He nodded before making his way from the workshop.

Walking back down the path, he heard her put on music again. This time it was softer, quieter. He could just make out the tune, Stardust. It was the version of the song she’d played back on the ranch, and it was a sad, practically mournful little melody.

_What have I done?_ He couldn’t help but wonder. Everything felt wrong. Something had happened. They’d been joking around, and then it hadn’t been a joke anymore. They’d been having a casual conversation, and then it hadn’t been. In an instant, something harmless had become harmful; something innocent had become volatile. They’d crossed a line, how and why, and in what way, Bucky wasn’t entirely sure. What had her comment about flying been about? Why did he feel there was somehow a connection between Stardust, her dead husband, and the comment. To him was the logical progression, but what did it all mean?

Then, on top of wondering what was going on with Ramirez, he felt angry for some reason, if not a bit hurt. Not at her, per se, but at the entire situation. _Why can’t you act normal for once? _His brain screamed at him. This wouldn’t have been a problem for him, way back when. He wouldn’t be micro-analyzing every conversation, wouldn’t be concerned with what she thought, wouldn’t have a reason to be concerned if this was 1942 if he was the Bucky from before all of this, all of this _shit. _

_Well, it’s not 1942, pal._

That was the reality, and that was the problem. He wasn’t the Bucky from before, from 1942, there was no way he could be; he knew this on an instinctive, nearly cellular level. Yet he wanted to be. Ramirez, for whatever reason, made him want to be the man he’d been before.

Bucky shook his head. It didn’t matter. It was a stupid and impossible thought anyway. The idea of normal, the idea of him being normal now or ever again, was utterly ridiculous. What exactly their little exchange meant, what any of it meant would have to be left until later, if she actually came to the party, and if he got a chance to talk with her. Until then, he was left with only his thoughts and consolation in the Stardust of a song.

-

_Magdalene Ignacia Ramirez! What have you done? _Maggie could practically hear Riley laugh as he rushed to turn off the water main. They’d been doing some renovations on the kitchen, and one false move had busted one of the old pipes, quickly sending water everywhere and soaking her to the bone.

That’s what this felt like. That she’d made one false move, and now water was spouting from the line and drenching everything within reach. She hadn’t meant to, she really hadn’t, but in the pit of her stomach, she knew that her intentions didn’t matter.

She’d crossed a line, crossed an invisible boundary. It had been written all over the man’s face. She hadn’t really thought about what she was asking. It hadn’t occurred to her what dancing might mean to him, might represent. To be honest, Maggie really hadn’t thought anything of it. Barnes had made fun of her dancing, and so she had asked him to show her how he’d danced back in the day. Part of her had been trying to figure out how far she could push him, how flustered she could make him if she could rustle his feathers. Boy had she been successful. Probably a little too successful.

That was until she’d seen it on his face. She shouldn’t have pushed him, should’ve told him that she did know how to dance. But that hadn’t been the point, it hadn’t matted, or at least she’d thought it hadn’t mattered.

Then there had been the pure leaden resignation in his voice when he’d realized, and she’d seen the full brunt of her mistake written all over his face.

_Damn._

Frankly, she felt like an ass. Mostly, She’d been an idiot. She should’ve just stopped pushing, stopped insisting, given him an out. But she hadn’t. And it had devolved into an impromptu “Let’s talk about how Your Disability Impacts Your Life” session.

_You’re not his therapist. You’re not his girlfriend. You’re barely his friend. If EVEN. _

But they’d made it work, right? It had been fine, they’d managed it, and he’d even offered to go again. Had he been fine? There had been a moment, a few moments where he could see him struggling, see him fighting with himself. It wasn’t like he’d had much time, reason, occasion, or opportunity to confront his disability. How much had he processed? How much could anyone speak to the fact that he’d lost the same arm _twice? _That he’d lost the same arm twice in two very traumatic circumstances.

_The second time might not have happened if you’d just told Steve._

And how exactly would that conversation have gone? _Oh, by the way, your best friend, the man we’ve devoted hundreds, if not thousands of hours searching for, that guy, he killed Tony Stark’s parents._

Maggie shook her head. Didn’t matter. She couldn’t change it now, and she certainly couldn’t think like that. 

She had to focus on the present, on the now, because she couldn’t think about what had happened or what might happen without completely losing her head. Aside from that, she had other things to worry about. It was the King’s birthday, and while it wasn’t the entire nation showing up in Omondi’s village, it would be crowded, and the King and his family were expected to make an appearance. Meaning she, and very likely Barnes, had to be on their best behavior. Not that they wouldn’t be, of course, it was just an added stressor to an already stressful situation.

Maggie sighed as she picked up her comb and started working through her hair.

Since when had social interaction been considered a stressor for her? She’d always been a bit of a social butterfly and genuinely enjoyed being around people.

_Since Juarez, when crowds meant danger, and people meant problems. Since you speak tourist level Wakandan. Since your only normal point of human contact is a man who spent the last 70 years being repeatedly frozen, brainwashed, and sent out periodically to murder and maim. _

And now she’d probably ruined that too. She’d made him uncomfortable, more than normal, more than appropriate for their level of interpersonal connection.

She shook her head, twisting her hair into the green, blue, and black fabric that matched the fabric of the jumpsuit Teela had suggested she wear for the occasion. The color scheme was from the river tribe, and the way that Maggie understood it, the bolt of fabric had been a gift from the river tribe given to Teela, who had, in turn, commissioned a few pieces of clothing for every woman in the village. Teela had given it to her with a little note attached, _Merry Christmas. _Christmas wasn’t for a few more days, and of course, the Wakandans had their own celebrations that didn’t involve western, Christian traditions. However, the fact that Teela had been thoughtful enough to make mention of it, was incredibly touching, and Maggie knew that she had to wear the beautiful garment at least once before returning to her usual pants, button-down, and boots.

Securing her hair, she slipped on the large copper earring, before quickly surveying her reflection in the mirror. She looked exhausted, but the dark circles around her eyes had eased since she’d arrived in Wakanda. Certainly, her stress and anxiety levels had gone down, which was good. Still, tonight and all of its festivities were looking to be yet another stressful situation, thanks in no small part to her misstep earlier in the day.

“Hey, cowgirl! You ready!” Jelani’s voice called. “You coming?”

“Be right there!” She called back. Casting one last look in the mirror, and slipping on her kimoyo bracelet, she walked out where Tee, Jelani, Sisay, and a few others from the village were waiting, all on horseback. Fortunately, Stella was already saddled, and Maggie quickly mounted. Wordlessly, the group started toward Omondi’s village at a gentle trot.

It was a quick journey on horseback, and Maggie focused on what she was doing, rather than what the afternoon had entailed. She tried not to think about the fact that she’d upset Barnes. She tried not to think about the fact that it was the first time she’d danced like that since Riley had passed away. Tried not to think about Stardust, or about how long it had been since he’d passed away, or think about the fact that when she’d danced with Barnes, she’d felt like she was flying. She tried not to think about the fact that she desperately wanted to dance again and dance properly with the man who had ruined her life, and who despite everything, was quickly becoming one of her friends. Yet the thoughts plagued her, try as she might, even as she knew in her heart of hearts that it didn’t matter what she wanted. If she’d misstepped, if she’d pushed him too hard, and too far, there wouldn’t be another time. That if she’d ruined this, it was all on her.

By the time they arrived, the sun was starting to get low, giving the landscape a purplish hue. Dismounting, they stabled their horses, and Teela took her by the hand, leading her through the party to meet a number of the local women.

For her part, Maggie struggled to keep up, but smiled and nodded, trying to remember names and modes of address. When they’d finally made it through the gauntlet, Teela handed her a drink, patting her amiably on the back. “You did well. Are you okay?”

“Of course.” Maggie smiled, taking a sip from the drink Teela had given her. It was a coconut and mango combination, with the faintest bit of alcohol. What exactly was in it, Maggie didn’t know but felt it was probably better not to task.

“Good.” She paused. “You have been a good and considerate guest in our village. But you need not consider yourself a guest, Magdalene.”

“Thank you. You have been a kind and gracious host. I am honored.” Maggie said.

“You should not feel so obligated to us.” Teela continued.

“Obligated?” Maggie echoed.

“Yes. You feel you must socialize, must come to all of these events, must do everything you are invited to. You are allowed to say no. You are not obligated to us.” Teela explained.

“Oh.” She glanced down into her drink. Was it that obvious she was miserable at socializing at the moment? Was she being rude? Surely, Teela, or Jelani, or someone would’ve said something by now. “I do not want to appear ungracious, disrespectful, or disinterested in your country and it’s customs, practices, and traditions. Particularly since you have allowed me to live among you, rather than cloistered off in the city.”

“There is very little you could do to insult us. That you have put so much thought into not insulting us is telling of your character, but you should not worry so, you _both_ shouldn’t worry.” Teela replied, her gaze moving past Maggie to a commotion that was taking place behind her.

“Both?” Maggie stammered, turning to follow Teela’s line of sight. “Oh.”

The source of the noise was none other than James Barnes. A group of four kids had attached themselves to his arm, and he was swinging them as they giggled and laughed in sheer delight. Maggie couldn’t help but smile at the sight, as he laughed and smiled along with them, seemingly happy to facilitate them and whatever game it was he’d become a part of. It seemed a sort of universal truth was unfolding before her eyes, a group of children around a much larger, stronger adult, will always want to use them as a climbing frame.

Perhaps what was more striking was that he was laughing and smiling amicably and that to her amazement, she realized that she had never seen him do so before. Not like this, not to this degree. Sure, she’d managed, at least once or twice, to coax out a laugh or a smile while they were watching a movie, or talking during lunch, but this was something else. Was this what he had been like with his sisters? She could imagine, thinking about the photographs, a young Becca doing something similar to what she saw now. Bucky’s face all soft and warm lines, something unspeakably kind in his eyes and mouth. Maggie realized as she watched that somehow this felt special. As though she was glimpsing something rare, something from the “before," untouched and untarnished by time, something incorruptible to outside influences.

He looked up, meeting her gaze, and Maggie looked away and down, trying to find anywhere else to look. Next to her, Teela cleated her throat, and Maggie starred down in her drink, trying to will away the blush that was rising on her face. She’d been caught staring, and even Teela had noticed.

“Is he looking at us?” Maggie muttered under her breath into her glass.

“Yes. He’s coming this way.”

Maggie sucked in more drink than she’d meant to, partially choking. Coughing, she looked back up to find that he was disentangling himself from the kids and was making his approach.

“Heyi, White Wolf, It is good to see you!’ Teela called as he walked toward them.

“Madame Teela.”

“Please, please, just Tee is fine.” She said, “Now if you both would excuse me, I need to see what my husband and child have gotten up to.” Patting Maggie on the back, she disappeared into the throngs of people.

Hesitantly, Maggie looked up and met Barnes’s curious gaze. “Hi.” She offered breathlessly.

“Hi.” He looked her up and down uncertainly.

Maggie opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a group of kids who came rushing past, laughing and joking, calling, “White Wolf!” As they passed.

“You’re popular," Maggie commented.

“Strange one-armed white guy, remember?” He said dryly.

“Law of nature Barnes, small children are constantly in search of something to climb onto or hang off of. You’re just a convenient target.”

“Because I’m the strange one-armed white guy.”

Maggie sighed, nodding, “Point taken.”

There was a long pause as they both surveyed one another. Barnes had changed from his usual trousers, and button-down with the sleeve ripped off, and instead wore a more traditional looking set of Wakandan pants and robe, with matching scarf. Rather than his usual red and blue color scheme, he was in darker browns and blues, a thick leather belt cinching up the fabric, the scarf, as usual, hiding his pronounced lack of an arm. Someone, or perhaps he’d managed it with one hand, had put his hair up into a half up half down bun, and he’d even trimmed and groomed his beard.

They made eye contact, and Maggie smiled. “You look nice.”

“Thanks, so do you.”

“Thanks.”

There was yet again another pause, as they tried to find what to say next.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come," Barnes admitted hesitantly after a moment. “After this afternoon, I mean.”

Maggie glanced up at him. “If anyone has a right to be avoiding anyone after this afternoon, it would be you.”

He frowned, furrowing his brow.

“I want to apologize, Barnes, I realized after you left that I had been a little too forceful, and tremendously inconsiderate.”

Barnes nodded thoughtfully, taking a moment to chose his words before he spoke. “You can’t make me do anything I don’t _want_ to do, Ramirez.”

_But it was awkward. It was uncomfortable. It did push you out of your comfort zone in a way I had no right to ask, demand, or force. _She wanted to say it, but she didn’t. _I’m not making fun of or making light of you or your disability. _But this wasn’t the right time, place, or moment for that. Not right now, in front of the Wakandans, when this was supposed to be a celebration, and they could be interrupted at any moment.

“Well, I wouldn’t want force to come into the equation in any context. I’ll do my best to be more mindful in the future.” She managed, as light-heartedly as she could manage.

He nodded again. “I’m glad you came.” He continued after a moment.

“I’m glad you came too. These things are always easier to bear when you’re not alone.”

“Yeah.” He agreed softly.

_You wanna get out of here?_ She almost asked. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to ask. After all, it was clear they both didn’t want to be there. They could slip away and watch a movie at his place. They were still trying to pin down when they were going to watch Gone With The Wind. Why not tonight? “So when did you want to watch our next film?” She inquired slowly.

“Gone with the Wind? You’re really serious about watching all of those old movies with me?”

“Well. Yeah. I mean, if you’ll have me.” She stammered.

“Why?” He asked.

_Oh boy._ She hadn’t expected him to ask. Why would he? Maggie took a deep breath, trying to find a way to not make this about her dead husband. “I’ve never seen a lot of these,” She began slowly.

“I meant, why do you want to watch them with me?”

“Oh.” She’d asked herself the same question it felt like a thousand times over, and it always came down to, _I’m lonely, what the hell else am I going to do? _But it didn’t feel like that, not when they were actually sitting there watching the films. They’d only watched Casablanca and Godfather together (and part of Raging Bull, if you counted that before she’d rage quit over the pedophilia), but she’d been able to ask him questions during Casablanca. Then after watching The Godfather, he’d asked her about the differences between the book and the movie. They’d been able to _relax_ around one another without the pressure of a performance. But she couldn’t say that, not without it being weird, or weirder than their entire relationship already was.

“Well.” She continued. “Believe it or not, Barnes, but I think I’m starting to enjoy your company.”

He snorted, shaking his head, before he looked her over, his expression changing. “You’re serious.”

_I know, I’m as surprised as you are. Maggie_ would’ve said, but that felt mean spirited. Instead, she nodded with a faint smile, “So far as I can tell.” She said, trying to convey as much as possible that she was being sincere. And of course, she _was _being sincere, but she couldn’t help but note Barnes’s skepticism.

“Oh," Barnes replied slowly.

“I wouldn’t spend time with you if I thought you were a total asshole.”

“Just a partial one?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Only when you want to be.”

He chuckled, nodding. Opening his mouth to say something, he was cut off by a loud commotion, and they both turned to see none other than King T’Challa, Nakia, Princess Shuri, and the Queen Mother entering the village, flanked by some of the Doras, including the General, Okoye.

Maggie watched as they moved through the crowds of people, wishing the King a happy birthday. “Barnes, what’s the Wakandan convention on gift-giving for the King’s Birthday?” She managed under her breath.

“You know, I hadn’t really thought about that until you just asked.”

“I mean, what would we even begin to give a King?”

“Beats me.” He shrugged.

“Well, it’s not too late to sneak—”

“Barnes, Magdalene, I’m honored you came.” The King said as he approached.

Barnes shot her a look that she couldn’t quite decipher, “The honor is ours.” He said before she could manage to find her words.

“Happy Birthday, your highness.” Maggie managed. “I’m afraid we didn’t think to bring anything in honor of your name day.”

At this, the King shook his head. “No, no. While gift-giving is customary during a name day celebration, as King, I have the special privilege of bestowing gifts.”

“That really isn’t necessary,” they blurted out at once.

The slightest hint of a smile, upturned at the corner of his mouth, and he nodded, regally. “That may be so, but never the less, it is my right.” He said, removing two Kimoyo beads from his pocket. “It is my understanding that two of your holidays are forthcoming, and that likewise, it is customary to receive messages of goodwill from friends and family, and return messages in kind.” He extended the first one to Barnes. It was slowly flashing a blue color rather than it’s usual white, and he took is uncertainly, holding it in his hand, inspecting it carefully. The King then turned to her, giving her the second one, which flashed a purple color. “Messages for you, from Captain Rogers, and Samuel Wilson. You may record your own message and leave your beads with Omondi and Jelani. They will get them to the appropriate people who will deliver your messages.”

“Thank you, your highness.” Maggie stammered, placing the bead on her bracelet.

“Thank you.” Barnes chorused.

“I will let you enjoy your evening. Thank you again for coming.” He nodded before returning to the main party.

Maggie could feel Barnes exhale a long breath beside her. “You were saying.” He commented dryly after a beat of silence.

She cracked a smile, rolling her eyes. “I spoke too soon, or not soon enough. Although I don’t think I can decide which is worse.”

“Well. Regardless, we still got V-mail. That’s something.”

Maggie nodded, “That _is _something.” She paused, chewing on the corner of her mouth. “I’m glad they were able to get a message through, I’ve been wondering how they’re doing.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He agreed.

They faded off into silence, watching the activities of the party as they unfolded. Then the Princess Shuri called her name. “Magdalene! Magdalene, come here. I must teach you to dance!”

All eyes of the party, and it felt the whole of Wakanda, turned to her, and Maggie could feel as the blush rose on her cheeks. “If you’d excuse me.” She managed before throwing back the rest of her drink.

“Of course.” Barnes nodded, a curious and playful expression on his face, his hands still balled around the Kimoyo bracelet.

“Wish me luck,” Maggie murmured, before walking through the crowd and toward where the Princess was beckoning her.

-

Bucky watched her walk away and into the crowd, where a group of women had started to gather around where the Princess would be teaching Ramirez the steps to the dance.

Although he couldn’t make out what was being said, Bucky could see that Ramirez was listening intently, her face bent in extreme focus and concentration.

It was a traditional Wakandan dance for women. What it’s significance was Bucky. Couldn’t entirely figure out, but as the music started, all of the women, including The Princess, Queen Mother, and Nakia, lined up and started to dance and sing along. Ramirez did her best to keep[ up, laughing and smiling as she fumbled a step, her face bright in the light of the massive bonfire that had been built up in the center of the village. The light danced on her face, illuminating her eyes, and smile.

Was that how she’d looked while they were dancing. He couldn’t recall, and they’d been close, closer than Bucky was to her now. Only then, he’d been focused on his own steps, worried, practically frantic, afraid to make a misstep, afraid to make an ass out himself, or incur Ramirez’s laughter, her scorn.

Only she’d been the one to apologize. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Had his discomfort been that obvious? Had he made her feel guilty? She hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. It had all been in his head rather than something she’d personally done or said. As he’d told her, there wasn’t anything that she could do to force him into anything he didn’t want to do—all that pressure, all that expectation, that had been internal.

She’d said she didn’t want force to enter the equation, and she’d apologized. Should he apologize for his behavior? He didn’t know. Steve might know, Wilson would _certainly _know how to respond to Ramirez.

_Jeezus, asking Steve for advice on how to talk to a woman._ It was almost more than he could bear. 

Bucky shook his head, glancing down at the Kimoyo bead he was rolling between his fingers. A message from Steve. It would be good to hear his voice again, hear what they were up to, know if they were safe. He’d, of course, send a message back to Steve. That, however, was more troubling.

What was he going to say? What could he say? He’d even forgotten that it was nearly Hanukkah. Time, it seemed, moved differently in Wakanda, moving fast and yet not at all. He would report, of course, that he was fine. That’s always how V-mail started. It didn’t matter if it was coming or going; you always started with reassurance. You were fine, the family was fine, the neighbors, postman, milkman, however, they were all in good health. After that, there’d be the local gossip, who’d gotten married, who was carrying on with the girl down the street, before talking about the weather or something to fill the space. Then you’d wish them well before you signed off.

They didn’t necessarily all go like that, but that was the general format. Becca had been a master at writing interesting letters. Of course, the letters had all been in her handwriting, but Bucky could always tell which parts were hers and which parts she’d directly copied from their folks.

Fortunately, Becca had never had to find ways to couch bad news with a positive spin. Other guys in the 107th hadn’t been so lucky. Deaths or severe illness in the family were the most common. One had received a Dear John, that had been difficult to watch.

So what was Bucky going to say? What was there to say? What was he willing to say when it would likely be listened to by the Wakandans and then overhead by Steve’s team. What could he say that would approximate the truth without worrying Steve, but also not sound totally made up.

He paused at the sound of laughter and focused back on what was happening. Ramirez was laughing and clutching her side, even as she continued to dance, badly, by comparison to the others dancing around. Still, she was grinning and laughing and apparently enjoying herself.

What would she say to Wilson? Would she report that she’d happy and well adjusted? Would she tell him about their movie nights, or that they’d danced under the trees and she’d tripped and dragged him to the ground? Would she tell Wilson that she was lonely and unhappy? That she was bored and didn’t have any friends? Bucky didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know how he figured into her world.

“Heyi, White boy!” The Princess Shuri called, and he turned to see her waving him over. “Come and let me teach you how to dance.”

Ramirez stood at his side, looking mortified. Catching his eye, she mouthed, ‘Sorry!’

Bucky hesitated, momentarily frozen in indecision. _This should be fun, let it be fun._ He could hear her say.

Letting the Kimoyo bead slide onto the bracelet, he nodded, walking through the parting crowd to where they were standing.

“Well, Ramirez, you did say you’d show me some of your moves.” He commented dryly as he joined them.

“She did?” The Princess raised an eyebrow.

“She did," Bucky confirmed, glancing between the Princess and Ramirez, who was blushing, her ears tinged with pink. “So. Who’s going to show me how it’s done?”

He’d figure out what message to record for Steve later. He’d figure out how to cope with everything he’d been dealing with later, but for right now, he was going to let tonight, let right now be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. The Title of the chapter is actually in reference to a wonderful Fred Astaire song (as featured in the playlist/recommended listening) and is from the film Swing Time starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Unfortunately, the movie has a horrible blackface number, but (aside from the horrible racism) is a quaint little film with some wonderful dance numbers. 
> 
> That aside! What did we think? I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS and only more feelings to come! I hope you all enjoyed! I can't wait to hear what you think and thank you so much for your patience and understanding. Life threw me some very interesting curve balls over the past few weeks, so writing has been a little low on the priority list. 
> 
> Happy Reading!


	10. Something There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> TW: BIG OLE WARNING For self-harm and self-harm ideation. 
> 
> Recommended Listening: I’ll Be Home for Christmas by Bing Crosby; Something There by Page O’Hara and Robby Benson; Waterfalls by TLC ; Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas by Judy garland
> 
> (I know I know, Christmas music ewww, but I posted this chapter AFTER thanksgiving [technically] I’m allowed)
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/1253302637/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=Muhiswr9TsS_rTEU4ruJZw

_There’ll be snow and mistletoe and presents under the tree._

Maggie could hear Sam’s voice, small and wavering as he sang into the recording. Whether he was singing softly because he didn’t want to give away their position, or he didn’t want the others to hear him, Maggie didn’t know, because all she could hear was him, and she’d been doing her best to get it out of her head for the better part of a week now. It had been two days since Christmas, and just about a week since the King had given her the Kimoyo bead with Sam’s recording on it.

It, of course, had been a relief to hear Sam’s voice. It had felt a little bit like old times, listening to his voice in the cool and dark of her room after a long day’s work. Perhaps a little too much like old times.

Maggie hadn’t sent a recording back. She had hoped to be able to get it together long enough to record something for Sam. She’d tried, to her credit, she’d tried several times, but had always gotten weepy halfway through. That was something she’d sworn back in the day when Sam and Riley were on their tour of duty that she would never do. They had to stay focused on doing their jobs and coming home safely. She wouldn’t make that more difficult by making them worry about her because she was having a hard time keeping it together.

She felt that way then, and she felt that way now. _I wonder if Barnes has sent Steve anything. _

She hadn’t thought to ask when they’d sat down to watch the first part of Gone With the Wind. They hadn’t really had much to say before, during, or after the film. They’d both been exhausted and were both trying to find their way back to somewhat more normal ground after what had happened last week. Barnes hadn’t brought it up, but there was that level of uncertainty that was present in their interactions, a level of caution. She was simply trying to give Barnes his space to work through what he needed to work through, and doing her best not to overstep her boundaries.

Maggie wanted to talk to Sam, and with the dancing, and the audio recording, and with everything that was happening, she _really_ wanted to talk with Riley. He would’ve had something funny and witty and honest to say about all of this. He would’ve kissed her forehead and made her laugh, and then they would’ve talked through the options, the choices, the path forward. This time of year the three of them would be snuggled up on the couch, drinking eggnog, with a roaring fire in the fireplace, talking, laughing, listening to Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, The Roches, and any number of other adaptation of Christmas music they’d managed to find for her record player. She missed it, she missed them, and it was all because Sam had decided to sing that song because he’d reminded her of what they had, and what they were now missing. Over the past few years, it had been something that she’d done her best to avoid, ignore, or otherwise keep from thinking about, and now she had to face it again. She missed her home, and she missed the people who’d made it her home.

Maggie blinked, leaning heavily against the workbench. Wiping her face with the back of her sleeve, she looked around. The heat was rising from the ground in waves, making it difficult to breathe, her vision blurring and making her headache.

_I’m dehydrated._

She knew the signs. She stooped down to her water skin and took a long draw letting the water run down her chin and soak into her shirt. She then poured a generous amount over her head, exhaling with a satisfied sigh.

“Go home, Cowgirl.”

She looked up to see Jelani standing in the shade a short distance away. “Pardon?” Maggie asked breathlessly.

“Go home. It’s too hot to do anything. All this can wait until tomorrow.” He said, adjusting his grip on his staff.

“Honestly. I’m from Texas. This heat really isn’t all that bad.” She paused as she felt dizzy, the world around her spinning slightly.

Jelani gave her a _look_ but mercifully said nothing.

“What time is feed delivery today? I’ll go home afterward.” She reasoned.

“That’s what I wanted to tell you. The White Wolf isn’t coming. Omondi gave him the day off on account of the heat. Omondi will be by later for dinner and will deliver the feed once the heat breaks. You have no reason to stay out in it as well. Go somewhere cool and in the shade, perhaps take the White Wolf with you to the falls Sisay and I were telling you about..”

“Oh," Maggie replied, trying to ignore the audible disappointment that practically dripped from the exclamation. She hadn’t heard anything. Why hadn’t he sent her a message? Maybe this was his way of telling her that he didn't want to talk with her or deal with her today.

_You’re being stupid._ It was the kindness, gentlest thing that she could manage. _You’ve ruined everything, you moron_, was the next nicest thing, followed by, _you fucking idiot, you always do this, you always mess everything up, this is what you do, this is why you’re always the only one left standing._

Jelani cleared his throat, and Maggie raised her eyes to match his gaze. “Go home. Get some rest; try to stay out of this heat. It does things to your head if you’re not careful.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I’ll be here tomorrow earlier to try to beat the heat of the afternoon.”

At this, Jelani laughed, “I assure you cowgirl, the whole of Wakanda will not crumble if you decide to take a few days for yourself. You’ve worked non-stop since you’ve been here and been an avid and keen learner.”

Maggie had to swallow back the palpable anxiety that swelled in her chest at the very thought.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, all the earlier, cowgirl," Jelani said simply, before walking away.

She nodded, watching as he went.

Jelani was right. Maggie knew he was right. She needed a break. She had worked non-stop since she’d arrived. It would only be right for her to take some time off to take care of herself. She wouldn’t, of course. She’d had two and a half years to take time to get her head on straight, and she hadn’t. What would make her time in Wakanda any different?

As she cleaned up her work station, her mind wandered back to the message Sam had left for her. She needed to respond, needed to find a way to make it through what she wanted to say.

_This isn’t about you and about how you’re feeling. This is about making sure that Sam knows that you’re safe. Whether your happy, healthy, and well adjusted is subjective anyway._

Her palms itched, the pressure was there, in the back of her mind, building, searching for any way out, for any way to relieve that constant and ever-present urge. It wouldn’t take much for her to take back control, to manage the raging pain and anger and hurt that she’d damned up behind fragile walls. Just a little bit a siphon, a little bit of a controlled release of pressure, to relieve what was building up just behind her eyes and lurking in the dark corners of her mind.

Maggie arrived back at her single dwelling, and immediately went for the container of ice in the small food storage unit, and pressed an ice cube against her right forearm with her left hand, focusing on the chilling sensation that went up her arm and through her spine. With her free hand, she clicked on the Kimoyo bead, and Sam’s voice filled the small room.

‘_Hey Mags,’ _Sam began, he sounded tired, but like he was trying to put on a happy face for her. _‘It’s been a while. Hope you’re doing well. Steve, and Wanda, and Nat say hello. We all hope you’ve settled into life there. The War Dogs who made contact with us said that you’re working for a horse breeder. That’s good. I’m glad you’re working with horses again. I know you were always happiest when you got to be around animals. Even when things were bad, and hard, having your horses, having your routine seemed to help make it not so bad.’_

Sam paused, and Maggie could hear him thinking about what he was going to say next.

_‘I hope you’re not alone, though. That you’ve found people to spend time with, hell, even if it’s Barnes, it would be better than you being alone. It’s not good for you to be alone.’ _He faltered, breaking off again. _‘I keep thinking about what happened, over the summer, when you went off the grid, when you were alone, in Juarez. Doing what I’m doing now, I can’t imagine doing it alone. I have my team, and they have my back. But thinking about you, thinking about how you did all of that alone, how you’ve been alone...since...well...for a long time now. I don’t want you to be alone, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t find you sooner.’ _There was another pause. _‘I wish I could be there with you to celebrate Christmas. I know that was always our thing when we were together. That was always Riley’s favorite holiday, and we’d always make a huge thing of it. We haven’t done that since he’s been gone and not going to lie. I’ve missed it, I think about it, I still think about it, even all these years later.’ _Sam sighed, _‘Damn, sorry. I didn’t mean to take my message that direction. This was supposed to be a fun message. A letter home.’ _Maggie could practically hear him shake his head before he took a deep breath. _‘I'll be home for Christmas, You can plan on me, Please have snow and mistletoe, And presents on the tree.’ _He sang.

Tears started streaming down her face, and she let the ice cube fall from her grasp as she reached up to wipe them away.

'_I'll be home for Christmas, If only in my dreams.’ _It was only then that Sam’s voice cracked. He paused, clearing his throat before he continued. _‘I love you, Mags, I’m thinking about you, I hope you’re doing well, and I hope to hear from you soon. Merry Christmas.’ _

The recording ended, and Maggie wiped her face before her left hand went instinctively to the chain around her neck.

Maggie froze. It was gone, it wasn’t there.

She jumped to her feet, her heart pounding in her ears, her eyes scanning the floor of her small dwelling.

It was gone. The chain, the rings, all of it gone. She frantically rifled through her blankets and bedroll, and the small chest she used to store all of the clothes she’d been given. Through the cloth sack, she used to store her dirty clothes, through her make-shift ofrenda, where she’d set up her grandmother’s statue and her grandfather’s rosary.

_Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. _She swore silently as she came up empty. Panic turned to anger, which turned into despair, and Maggie sunk down on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Squeezing her eyes and taking deep breaths, she tried to ground herself and slow her panicking mind.

_Think. Think slowly, rationally calmly. _The logical, rational, calm side of her brain cooed. While the other, louder, more frantic side of her simply screamed, _Find it! Find it! Find it!_

In response, her brain completely shut down, and she sat numbly for a good five minutes, allowing panic and heart wash over. She’d lost it. She’d lost one of her last tangible connections to Riley. How could she have been so stupid?

Becca had said one day it wouldn’t hurt so much and that she’d be able to take off the bands and not feel naked. But it wasn’t now. It wasn’t like this. Putting Riley aside was supposed to be a choice, was supposed to be part of the process; it wasn’t supposed to be ripped away from her like everything else.

Maggie took a couple of deep breaths before opening her eyes again and glancing around the small, now incredibly messy, hut. _It’s not lost, just misplaced—one thing at a time._

Rising on shaking legs, she took a mental stock. _I’m dehydrated, I’m hot, I’m dirty, and I’m panicked. Which one of these things can I fix first?_

Chugging a half-gallon of water, Maggie peeled off her dirty work clothes, washing her arms, neck, and chest with a wet towel before pulling on a gauzy white dress. It was floor-length, lightweight, and fitted through the chest and waist with a flowing skirt and sleeves that buttoned at the wrists and neck. She’d bought it on one of her trips to the market, and it flowed freely around her legs, giving her full range of motion, as well as a nice bit of air circulation. She looked like a short, fat, Mexican Florence Welch, but it would work to keep her cool.

She turned to her hair, unwrapping it from its usual braid, she combed it, and collecting her favorite head wrap, started to twist the long lengths of fabric and hair together. It was as headscarf she’d picked out when she’d bought the dress, and the blue, red, and gold pattern of the fabric was woven with vibranium, which in combination with a bunch of highly scientific things Maggie didn’t understand, worked to keep her internal temperature regulated. Then grabbing the matching scarf, knotted to of its corners, and pulled it over her head and across her body.

By the time she was finished, Maggie had a plan. She didn’t need to sit in her hut and mope. She’d retrace her steps and find Riley’s wedding band, first to the shop, then around the shop and barn, before she walked toward Omondi’s village, and then Barnes’s hut.

After that, who knew. She might even go to the falls, and she might even take Barnes with her. But first, one thing at a time.

-

It was hot. Really hot. Oppressively hot, and Bucky was doing his best not to move in a vain attempt to keep cool. He couldn’t remember a time he’d ever been this hot. He’d been kept in Siberia. He’d fought in the European front during the war. He was from Brooklyn. It got hot, but never lung crushing, skin melting hot like this.

Omondi had given him the day off due to the heat, which meant that he wasn’t making his usual rounds for feed delivery. Instead, he was lying flat on his back, in his hut, while he silently debated himself about if he should reach out to Ramirez and let her know that he wasn’t going to be by today.

_Would she really care? _He couldn’t help but wonder.

Bucky exhaled, blowing some hair out of his face as he stared up at the thatch ceiling listening to people as they walked by, laughing and talking with one another, completely unaware that he was listening.

He’d done his best to occupy his time, read, write, maybe even watch a movie or something, but it was too hot. So instead, he was stuck in his head, and without anywhere to go, his thoughts were only compounding, building upon one another.

At the moment, he was trying not to think about if he should call Ramirez and let her know that he wasn’t going to be by for their usual Tuesday lunch. Mostly, he was thinking about Steve’s audio message. Hanukkah had started a few days ago, and much like the two years he’d been on the run, Bucky didn’t feel like celebrating. Wasn’t sure if he _should _celebrate. After all, who was there to celebrate with? Steve had sounded in good spirits, though. Wanda Maximoff was with them now, and she was going to celebrate the holiday with Steve. Natasha was, of course, Jewish, but whether or not Steve knew that, Bucky didn’t know. Regardless, Steve had Sam and had his team around him to celebrate. That was good. It was good that Steve had people. Steve needed people.

Bucky was still in search of normalcy, and thus far, it felt like trying to bring other people into the mix just hadn’t had good results.

Steve had asked Bucky how Ramirez was getting along. If they’d seen anything of one another, _She’s a good person Buck, and I think you two would get along._ He’d mentioned in passing between two of his comments.

_If only Steve knew. _

Bucky would tell Steve, of course, that he and Ramirez were having their weekly lunches and watching films together. He’d tell Steve that they were perfectly amiable to one another. Bucky wouldn’t, however, tell him he was still thinking about what had happened almost a week ago. He felt embarrassed, ashamed almost. Why? He wasn’t entirely sure, but he knew that he felt that, strongly, acutely almost. Of course, he and Ramirez had spent time together since then, she’d come over to watch the first part of Gone With the Wind, they’d talked and had a decent time, but it felt like she was keeping her distance. He felt delicate, and he hated that he felt that way.

He paused, sitting up on his elbow, looked around, and paused. Something had caught his eye, something that didn’t belong there. Slowly, he rose, his eyes scanning the floor as he searched, and then, crouching down, scooped it up in his hands.

“Oh, fuck.” He breathed as he examined the single gold band. It was a man’s ring, a wedding ring. He’d seen it before, on a chain, around Ramirez’s neck. He scanned the floor for a moment, before locating the chain and the other, much smaller wedding band.

How long had that been on his floor? Since Ramirez had come over for Gone with the Wind? Had she not noticed? How had he not noticed?

_I have to get these back to her._

Bucky charged from his hut, and blinking out into the sunshine, heading practically blind for the village. He’d been walking a good ten minutes when he stopped, a single thought piercing through his racing mind. _You could’ve just called her, you moron._ He silently scolded himself.

He looked around, blinking as the heat rose off the ground in warbling waves, all of a sudden feeling light-headed. _You really should’ve called her. _Bucky exhaled sharply, trying to stop everything from spinning.

“Barnes?” He looked up to see a figure approaching.

He squinted, trying to make out who it was. “Ramirez?”

“Yeah, it’s me," Ramirez answered, stopping several feet away. “What are you doing out here?” She asked, glancing him up and down.

Wordlessly, he extended his hand to her and opened his enclosed fist, revealing the broken chain and two wedding bands. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands as she crossed the distance between them, her eyes wide and glassy, ready to cry. “Where did you find them?” She asked, tears in her voice.

“They were on the floor. They must’ve dropped while we were cleaning up after watching the first half of Gone With the Wind. I didn’t see them until just now.” He explained, watching as she slowly reached out and collected them from his open palm, taking them delicately in both hands.

“Thank you, Barnes, Oh my god, thank you so much.” Ramirez breathed as she stowed them away in her bags. “I can’t thank you enough.” She looked up at him. “You could’ve called, though.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, “I realized that after I started walking over to your place.”

Ramirez glanced him up and down before speaking again. “Jelani told me Omondi gave you the day off.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Jelani also told me that I should take you with me to the swimming hold Sisay told me about.”

“He did?”

Ramirez nodded. “You can join me if you’d like. You’re likely less adapted to this climate than I am, and cooling off sounds like a good idea all around.”

“It _is_ hot,” Bucky agreed. Every inch of him was soaked with sweat. He was nearly sure that the nub of the winter soldier prosthesis was about ten degrees hotter than the air around them and sweating as well. He looked Ramirez over. She looked the perfect picture of ease, watching him with her steady, familiar gaze. She didn’t even look like she was breaking a sweat. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Bucky paused a moment, feeling light-headed. It was hotter than he’d realized, and he blinked, watching the dark spots dance in front of his eyes.

“You all right?” There was concern tinged her voice; her eyes surveying him carefully.

“Yeah. Fine. It’s just a little warmer than I thought.”

“Here.” She said, rummaging through her bag, she removed a massive water skin and extended it to him.

“I’m fine, really. It’s not too far back to the village.” He protested.

“Please drink some water, Barnes. You’re only out here because of me. I don’t want to be responsible for explaining why you passed out and hit your head on a rock.” 

He relented, nodding, and took the water skin from her. Whether it was the heat, his mood, or just the fact that Ramirez looked far too serious, a small, wry smile twisted in the corner of his mouth, and he lifted the water skin toward her, “Here’s looking at you kid.” He said before taking a long draw

At that, Ramirez chuckled, shaking her head. “And to think I thought you’d forgotten about that.”

“Is it as cheesy as you thought?” He inquired, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, before extending the water skin back to her.

“Keep it for now, and yes, that was cheesier than I could’ve possibly imagined.” She laughed.

“Well, I’ll have to find more opportunities to work it into conversation.”

“You’re a menace, Barnes.” She rolled her eyes. “But that whole issue aside, you wouldn’t be intruding if you came with me to the falls. I’d _like_ you to come with me.”

_Really?_ He wanted to ask. She wanted to spend time with him? He couldn’t believe it. Sure, movies and lunches were one thing, but this was an excursion outside of the village, isolated, and alone. She was trusting him. He wasn’t sure if it was earned, or warranted, but what was Bucky’s alternative? Go back to the village, sit alone in his hut, drink water, and stare at the ceiling? It paled in comparison to the notion that he could spend the afternoon with a beautiful woman. “How far is it?” He asked.

“About a half-mile, if you’re up for it. You look like you could use a cool down.” She said.

“That’s not too bad.” He shrugged, trying to be as casual as possible. “And yeah. Getting somewhere cool, and with lots of water sounds good right about now.”

“Good. I’ve marked a waypoint, to avoid any confusion or getting lost.” She said proudly, adjusting the straps of her bag.

“Lead the way then, Ramirez.”

“Can do Barnes. Keep drinking water.” She said, opening up the map on the kimoyo bracelet, they started walking.

They walked in amicable silence, Bucky drinking from the water skin and watching as Ramirez navigated. It was strange to see her not in her work clothes. He’d seen it a few times now, but it was always jarring. She fit in a very specific mental slot, and that slot included pants, a plaid shirt, and boots, or some variation therein. Everything about her today was soft lines, from the flowing skirts to the way her hair was wrapped, to even her expression. Light and soft, and drawing his eye. Was it the heat, or had he honestly just never noticed how beautiful she was before?

Her warm brown skin was smooth and flawless. Her eyes dark and inquisitive, her jaw, while tensed was angular and defined, was softer and more rounded now. Her thick brows were knit together, her lips pursed as she surveyed the map. Stopping, she looked down at the map and then around, making eye contact with him.

“What?” She asked, almost bashfully as she caught his gaze.

“Avoid getting lost, huh?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and managing a small reserved smile as he took another draw from the water skin.

Ramirez rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Not...as...such...” She hesitated.

“May I see?” Bucky said as he walked up beside her.

“Sure, be my guest," Ramirez replied, extending her right hand to him, and he looked the map over.

They were standing more or less where the waypoint had been set, but obviously not where they wanted to be. “I think you’ve gotten us lost, Ramirez.” He chuckled.

“Apparently so.” She sighed, rolling her eyes. “I swear my sense of direction isn’t normally this shitty.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. His attention had been grabbed by something in the background, something nearly out of earshot. “We’re close.” He said, glancing over at her. “Trust me.”

Ramirez nodded and followed behind him in silence. It didn’t take long until they came to a clearing, and a waterfall rose up before them, feeding the crystal clear pool below. “Wow," Ramirez commented softly, soaking in their surroundings. “This is beautiful.”

Bucky nodded in agreement. “Yeah.”

“Thanks for fixing my directional miscalculation.”

“You weren’t far off.” He shrugged, watching as she set down her bag and pulled off her cross-body scarf and boots.

“We might have been wandering a while.” She replied as she gathered up her long skirts and tied them around her waist, exposing her calves and a good portion of her thigh. Her warm brown skin looked smooth and soft. Her calves were well defined and muscular. _You’re starring, stop starring. You’ve seen a woman’s legs before._ “Are you going into the water, boots and all, James Barnes?”

Her voice called, and he blinked, realizing he’d been staring. “What?” He stammered.

“I asked if you’re going into the water, boots and all," Ramirez repeated, picking her way over to the water’s edge.

“Oh.” _You’re going in, going in the water. _He realized, watching her wade into the crystal clear water. “I was thinking I was going to refill the water skin and try to continue to re-hydrate.” He answered lamely. He knew how to swim. He just wasn’t sure if he could manage it with one arm. He’d never tried. Aside from that, going into the water with or without clothes was likely to draw a comment of some kind from Ramirez. He’d rather not deal with that right now.

“That makes total sense.” She answered, slowly picking her way through the pool, the water about knee-deep now. “Plus someone needs to fish me out if I slip and—” The words had hardly left her mouth before she slipped, falling into the water with a loud splash. She reappeared with a chorus of spluttering and swearing.

“You alright?” Bucky walked to the water’s edge, watching her rise unsteadily to her feet, her legs shaking like a newborn goat.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. That one’s on m-” She slipped again.

Bucky chuckled, kicking off his boots, started into the water after her. “You really don’t have-” Ramirez started but was cut off as she slipped again. By the time he made it to her, she’d gotten back up and was trying to steady herself.

“Here.” He extended his hand to her.

“Thanks.” She said breathlessly, taking it in hers.

“No prob-”

Then, against all the odds, he lost his balance and slipped, pulling them both into the water. They both came up gasping and pushing the hair out of his face, he looked at her, both of them breathing heavily. Was she going to be angry?

“Oops?”

Then, something broke in him, like a damn, and he threw his head back, and he started to laugh. Ramirez stared a moment, stunned before his laughing became infections, and she joined in.

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure why he was laughing, or for that matter, why Ramirez found it all that funny, but they laughed and laughed and laughed until their sides ached. Eventually, they hauled themselves to the shore and lay flat on the hot rocks starring at the clear blue sky. Chests heaving, they laughed weakly, trying to gasp enough air to say something.

How long had it been since he’d laughed like that? Had he, in fact, ever laughed this hard, this long, with someone? Yes. He’d been twelve, and Steve had said something, not all that funny that had made them laugh and laugh and laugh until his mother had come outside to see what the noise was all about. He glanced over at Ramirez, who had tears streaming down her face from laughing so hard, or was it water? Hard to tell. “You okay there, Barnes?” She managed after a moment.

“Yeah. you?”

“So far as I can tell.” She shook her head, standing up, she starting ringing out her skirt, walking to where she’d set down her bag and scarf.

“You done swimming?” He asked.

“No.” Ramirez shook her head, her fingers working on the soaking knot keeping the skirts up. “I want to let my dress dry, so I have something to wear on the way back.” She answered as the knot came loose and the skirts fell in a wet sheet around her legs. Unbuttoning the cuffs and collar of the dress, she started pulling the soaked gauzy fabric away from her skin and...

“Oh...” Bucky stammered. “Do you want?... I can...” He turned away, averting his eyes.

“I’m wearing shorts and a sports bra, Barnes. I’m hardly indecent.” Bucky could hear the smile in her voice. “But I appreciate your decency. You can turn around if you like.” She said, and he turned to see her laying the dress out to dry on the grass.

Ramirez rose and turned to face him, and his eyes were drawn to the scars running up and down her thighs in straight, neat little white lines. Some of the scars were nearly faded completely. He frowned. He’d never seen scars like that. “You can ask if you’d like.” He looked up and met her direct gaze. He’d been starring again. “I don’t mind,” She said gently.

“What happened?” His mind went directly to Hydra. They’d tortured her...but He didn’t remember them doing anything like that. It wasn’t their calling card. The scar on her arm and hand, that was Hydra. They crushed and mutilated limbs to get what they wanted out of their victims. No, the scars on her legs were something else.

“Friendly fire.” She supplied.

“Huh?” He furrowed his brow, meeting her gaze.

“They’re razor blade cuts," Ramirez explained gently. “I have a history of self-harm. I started in high school and finally got help midway through college. My last bad relapse was after Riley died. But it’s something I’ve struggled with for as long as I can remember.” Ramirez said as she walked past him back toward the water.

Bucky turned, watching her walk a little way into the water and sit down. She didn’t look upset or even angry. Just thoughtful. “I’m sorry.” He said after a moment.

“It doesn’t bother me, Barnes. It used to, but nowadays, it’s just part of the scenery.” She shrugged.

He reached up to his left shoulder, his fingers running along where the scars had formed long ragged paths from the continued abuse. The skin retained the memory of what he’d done or rather what he’d tried to do to himself. He’d tried at every opportunity to dig that thing out of him, even if it meant doing it with his own hand. Hydra had restrained him, sedated him, and physically punished him for trying to dig that thing out, but he’d persisted, desperate, frantic to undo what they’d done to him. Even now, that metal shoulder plate was still in his body, and every now and again, he’d get the urge to itch to scratch and pick at it, to claw and get the rest of it out—the last bit of Hydra. Well...one of the last bits anyway. Was that self-harm? It had felt like self-preservation at the time, a way to control what was happening, a way to fight back, a way to remain grounded at least momentarily in who he was. Was that the she same urge she’d felt every time she’d put a razor blade to her skin? Afraid second to second what she was doing but unable to stop herself. Bucky shook his head. How did she do it? Be so open and honest? So cavalier about something that had caused her tremendous pain? How could she still be so gentle and kind when she had endured so much? 

_Well, fair was fair. _Bucky thought. _She’d shown him hers. Now he’d show her his. _He paused. “Do you mind if I take off my shirt?” 

“What you afraid you’re going to blind me with your white skin, James Barnes?” She turned to face him, a broad smile across her face. She stopped, eyes surveying him a moment, her expression going serious. “Oh," Ramirez said slowly. “No. Your lack of limb isn’t going to put me off. Do whatever is going to be most comfortable for you.”

Bucky nodded and removing the scarf, he deposited it on the ground next to her dress, before slowly working the buttons of his shirt. Ramirez turned back the way she’d been facing to give him a semblance of privacy.

_She knows. She knows what you did to yourself. She knows what they did to you. _His mind screamed at him.

He peeled the damp shirt away from his clammy skin and set it out to dry as well.

_She’s a former Veteran therapist. She’s seen the files. Why are you so nervous about this? _The old Bucky would never have been nervous about this, being shirtless in the presence of another human being. Then again, the old Bucky wasn’t scarred and mutilated and missing a limb. The old Bucky hadn’t had mind and body ripped apart and stitched back together more times than he could remember. The Bucky from before, the _real _Bucky, was whole. He was not. He was vulnerable, exposed, with nothing to hide behind.

He glanced at the metal shoulder plate and the fabric cap covering what remained of the metal limb and exhaled slowly. _Might as well get this over with._ Bucky paused, walking up beside where she was sitting and looked down. Her self harm scars, white and bright against her otherwise dark smooth skin.

_Just a part of the scenery. _That’s what she’d said.

How long had it taken her to get to that place? How long would it take him to become as comfortable in his own skin as she appeared to be in hers?

He sunk down beside her on her left side, and she turned her head to him, her eyes glancing him over for no more than half a second. “You really are very white. You know that?”

“So you keep reminding me.”

Ramirez chuckled, but said nothing further, turning her attention back to the waterfall.

Was that what he wanted? No commentary about his missing limb, no wincing or look of pity, no unasked questions, no half asked, or nearly innocent questions. Perhaps, he realized, it was almost worse, not knowing, not getting a reaction out of her, not hearing what she thought of it, thought of him than knowing would be.

Bucky glanced over at her. She had both her arms behind her and was leaning against them. Her head was back, her eyes closed, just basking in the warm sun, the cool water on her legs and stomach. Ramirez looked radiant, her skin glowed in the sun, her dark hair was still neatly twisted on the top of her head with the scarf, and her expression soft and content.

Bucky found that he wanted to reach over and touch her just to make sure he wasn’t imagining all of this. She couldn’t be real. She couldn’t actually be here with him in this beautiful place. It had to be a dream. There was no way this woman would ever have given him the time of day back in the world, back when he was a whole functioning human being with good looks and charm. So why on earth was she so content to spend her afternoon with the sad husk of what remained of James Barnes?

_But she is. _

That was true. If she was horrified or repulsed by him, wouldn’t she have expressed it by now? She was no stranger to what he was, everything that he was. Would she have really sought out his presence if she thought he was revolting or repugnant?

_No. She wouldn’t have._

Bucky exhaled slowly, trying to slow his racing pulse and release some of the tension that had built up.

“That’s a good sound," Ramirez commented.

“Pardon?”

“You’re relaxing. It’s good.” She said, opening her eyes, she blinked bleary eye-ed as her eyes adjusted to the bright light. She looked over at him. “Personally, I could use a full body massage and a frozen margarita, but this certainly does in a pinch.”

“Yeah. It’s nice to get out of the heat for a while.” He agreed,

“Nice to get out of the village, away from life a little bit,” She said, splashing herself with a bit of water.

Bucky nodded, again saying nothing. Small talk was not his forte.

“You know what, Barnes,” She said, her eyes scanning the waterfall and rock face, “I’m going to jump off that ledge.”

“You what?” He asked, taken aback.

“That ledge, up there,” She pointed.

Bucky followed her line of sight to a ledge about fifty feet up. “Why?” He looked over at her.

“I dunno.” She shrugged. “There was a big jumping rock at the lake where my parents used to take my brother and me over the summer. They never would let me jump off it. I guess living out childhood dreams.”

Bucky glanced between her and the ledge. It wasn’t a huge drop. There were no rocks or debris to avoid, it was safe enough, but as someone who’d spent considerable time jumping and falling from great heights over the last 70 years, he couldn’t quite see the appeal. “Uh. Huh.” He nodded skeptically.

“I’m not asking you to go with Barnes. Actually, you should stay down here in case I crack my head open on a rock,” Ramirez said, wading toward the shore.

“And you’re trusting the one-armed guy to fish you out?” Bucky asked skeptically.

“Well. As I have no other readily available alternative, I’ll just have to trust you.” She reached the shore, turned, and smiled. “I don’t plan on cracking my head open if that makes you feel any better.”

“Slightly.” He shrugged, watching her pick her way toward the rock face. “Although I don’t think that ordeal back there is inspiring any confidence,” Bucky added.

“I don’t think slippery muddy rocks have any bearing on my ability to climb and jump off a ledge, James Barnes.” She laughed, starting her ascent upward. “But I take your point.” She paused, hauling herself on top of the ledge. Bucky winced but kept a careful eye on her as she scrabbled atop the flat surface. “You can’t tell me that you and Steve and your sisters didn’t do anything ill-advised when you were younger.” She said, her voice echoing over the water as she approached the edge of the ledge, she glanced down a moment.

“We did. I’d argue Steve never stopped, but I can’t say that I’d recommend a lot of what we did as kids to anyone today.”

“I’m not sure if one could argue you and Steve turned out okay, but I can certainly vouch for Becca.” She laughed, but there was something pitchy about it, something uncertain.

He frowned as he watched her approach and then back away from the ledge._ Something’s wrong. _“You okay?”

“Yeah. About that.” Her voice was small and shaky. She laughed weakly, approaching the ledge, peering down before backing away again.

_Holy cow, she’s afraid of heights. _He almost laughed. Almost. It was a bit of a relief to know that the woman who had harbored the Winter Soldier in her barn, performed light medical and mechanical operations in a grimy outbuilding, survived a Hydra raid on her house and subsequent torture, and had spent two and half years in some state of hiding or on the run was afraid of something. Or rather, in Bucky’s mind, possessed at least an iota of what could remotely be called a survival instinct. Your average human wasn’t built to survive large drops and so tended to be adverse to them. So far as he was aware, she wasn’t medically modified or super-powered, so her survival instinct was doing what it was supposed to in the face of danger, telling her not to jump. He looked up and saw that she was watching him, doing her best to keep the fear out of her eyes and failing.

“Yeah. Yeah. I know.” Ramirez said in what Bucky was sure she thought was a light-hearted and sarcastic voice. Instead, it came out leaden with terror.

_Of all things to be afraid of, heights. She should be terrified of me, on principle, but no heights are what does it. _There were worse things, but in context, it was the slightest bit amusing.

The wind blew, and she shivered. “The longer you stand up there, the worse it’s going to get Ramirez,” He called. “You could always climb down.”

“And give you the satisfaction?” She asked.

Bucky paused, uncertain of how to respond. _She doesn’t really care what I think of her, does she? _He pondered a moment. Not that he for a second would think less of her for something like this, it was just strange to think that she cared what he thought. Ramirez was willful, self-possessed, and confident. She shouldn’t care what he thought. And so she was afraid of heights, so what? In point of fact, so was he. The only difference between the two of them was that he’d had all self-preservation instincts manually switched off for 70 years by a bunch of sadistic mother fuckers and the medical modifications to ensure he didn’t die if he did take a massive fall.

“I wouldn’t put much stock in what _I _think. I’m a 100-year-old cyborg with a history of very bad decision making.” He said dryly.

“But?”

“But,” he continued, “if you take a running start, you won’t have time to overthink. You’ll be over the edge before you can stop yourself. When you get airborne, just make sure you cross your ankles and cross your arms across your chest. It’ll make sure you don’t hurt yourself on accident,” He said. It was the best he could do in the given circumstances.

“Uh, huh.” Ramirez nodded.

“And remember you enlisted me to drag you out if you do hit your head. So you got nothing to worry about."

“Thanks for that, Barnes.” She said with an audible twang, backing toward the cliff wall and out of his line of sight.

“Hey!” Bucky called, a smile twisting at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t you say it!” Ramirez warned.

“Here’s look-”

He was cut short by what could best be described as a battle cry as Ramirez sprinted from the ledge. The cry transformed into a scream which was drowned out by a splash and then silence. Bucky held his breath, watching the spot where she’d disappeared into the water, silently counting, waiting for her to come up.

Ramirez breached the surface coughing and gasping for air. “You alright?” He asked, swimming out to where she was treading water. She didn’t answer. “Ramirez, you gotta answer me,” Bucky said adamantly as he swam over to her. She nodded, coughing.

He surveyed her a moment before determining that other than being out of breath, she appeared to be okay. “Come on, let’s get you on dry land.”

Ramirez nodded again, and they both made for the shoreline. “Well. You survived your first cliff dive. How do you feel?” Bucky asked once they both could wade toward the shore.

She chuckled weakly, “Uhhh. Terrible. I thought it wouldn’t be so bad. It didn’t look so high up from down here. I don’t think I’ll be making a habit of that.”

“Sounds like a smart move all around.”

“I’d agree.” She was shaking from head to toe, her arms wrapped around her torso. She had been scared. More scared than he’d certainly ever seen her. Bucky gently guided her to where they’d set up, and they both sat down in the grass. Ramirez lay flat on her back, chest heaving, and squeezed her eyes shut.

“You did good, Ramirez,” He commented after a moment.

“Thanks, Barnes.”

Bucky said nothing but watched her in silence, giving her the time and space she needed to come down from her adrenaline rush. After a moment, she rolled onto her stomach and dragged her bag toward her. Removing a mango and a knife, she rolled back over and sat up. “Would you like half," Ramirez asked, as she started cutting into the large fruit.

“Sure.” He shrugged.

She worked slowly and purposefully as she cut the mango in half, handing him the larger of the two pieces. “Thanks.” Bucky murmured as he took it from her, their hands momentarily brushing.

“No problem.” She replied.

Ramirez took a big bite of hers, juice running down her chin, and she looked up just in time to catch his gaze. “What?” She laughed with her mouth full, a blush rising on her cheeks.

“Nothin.” He shook his head, biting into the mango.

Ramirez nodded, taking another bite. She chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “You know what I miss from home?”

“What’s that?” Bucky asked.

“A good cantaloupe,” She answered.

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. Of all the things he thought she might say, Cantaloupe hadn’t made the list, any list, ever. “Cantaloupe?”

“Yeah. A good one, mind you. Pecos cantaloupes are the best cantaloupes in the world. Ramirez said wistfully, and Bucky new that she was going somewhere far away, crossing time and space beyond his reach. “They’re the sweetest, juiciest, most delicious cantaloupes in the world. It’s hotter and dryer than hell out in Pecos, which I guess is why the cantaloupes from there taste so good. You know you have a good one when the rind is coated in the dry powdery dirt when you get it from the supermarket. My mom would always cut one up and stick it in the cooler with watermelon when we’d go to the lake. That way, when we got out of the water, we could have a cold snack before lunch.” She smiled, taking another bite of the mango.

“Sounds nice.” He commented.

“Mhhh hmmm,” Ramirez mumbled, taking another bite of the mango. She shook her head and swallowed. “The mango just isn’t doing it for me at the moment.” She settled back into the grass, still holding the mango. “What about you, Barnes? Is there something you miss from home?”

Bucky paused. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t turn this into a really dark conversation? _I miss having my arm. I miss having my sanity. I miss sleeping through the night without waking up in cold sweats. I miss not being an international war criminal. _No, she’d asked an innocent question. He wouldn’t muddy the waters with something so...morose. “Uhhh. I miss my mother’s Latkes.” He blurted out.

It was true. He’d spend the last few days thinking about celebrations, about how his family had always gathered together for every holiday and had a meal together. It was still difficult to think about his family, think about the fact he hadn’t been able to say goodbye. He hadn’t really thought about what he missed from home. He’d thought a lot about what he’d lost, about the things that he could never get back, but never about home itself and what made it so special. It was more a feeling more of a sensation than an actual experience—something intangible just on the tip of his tongue. “I miss how simple everything felt. Steve and I dancing in our socks to the radio, helping my sisters with their homework, helping Becca with her hair. Watching my mother cook during the holidays and being shooed from the kitchen when I tried to sneak a bite before it was ready.” He shook his head. “It was a long time ago.”

“That sounds lovely.” Ramirez paused, a contemplative, somber expression crossed her face.

“What?”

“Latkes. I haven’t had them in a few years.” She sighed wistfully.

_Since Becca died, s_he didn’t say it, but Bucky knew the tone. “Well, we’ll have to remedy that sometime before Hanukkah ends.” He commented slowly, wincing the metal of the shoulder plate was heating up, he could feel the skin around it burning.

“You okay?” Ramirez asked, sitting up, concern riddling her expression.

“Oh. Just hot metal on skin.” Bucky shrugged.

“That doesn’t look or sound comfortable.” She said, setting down the mango, she reached up to her hair and started untying the headscarf holding her hair in place.

“It’s...fine...what are you doing?” He asked, watching as her hair cascaded from the scarf, falling in dark tendrils down her back. She untwisted the fabric, flattening it to its real length and width.

“Will you trust me?” Ramirez inquired, rising to her feet, standing over him expectantly.

He looked her up and down skeptically. “Why?”

“Oh. Right. So.” She continued. “This scarf is woven with special cooling technology. Don’t ask me how it works because I can’t explain it, but basically, it detects your body temperature with the outside temperature and keeps you cool in the heat.” She explained, “May I?” Ramirez motioned to his left shoulder with her chin.

Bucky looked between her and the scarf and nodded hesitantly, more curious to see where she was going with this than apprehensive about what she might do.

“So I’m going to wrap this around your left shoulder, and the prosthesis, and then tie it around your body, and knot it against your right rib cage.” She explained as she knelt down beside him. “It’ll cool down your core and should relieve some of the burning.”

“Okay.” He managed.

Ramirez hesitated. “I’m not going to do this unless I have your consent.”

_Why? Why do you care so much? _He couldn’t help but wonder. Instead, he nodded, “You have my consent.”

“Okay. let me know if anything I do hurts you.” She said.

Just like back in the outbuilding, just like on Last Chance, she was worried about hurting him, even when they both knew that he was more likely the one to hurt her than vice versa.

Ramirez moved quickly and purposefully, draping the scarf over his left shoulder and the fabric cap of the Winter Soldier prosthesis. The wet fabric was cool against his skin and immediately eased the burning sensation creeping into his shoulder and neck. She pulled the two ends of the scarf down to his left rib cage, where the plate was inset and pressed the cloth against the seam of metal and skin. He winced, and she withdrew her hands. “I’m sorry.” Ramirez rushed.

“I should’ve warned you that part is more sensitive.” He replied, looking up into her concerned expression. “There very little you could do to hurt me that hasn’t been done before.”

“I know, but it doesn’t mean that you should grin and bear the discomfort.” She murmured as she continued her work.

_Grin and bear the discomfort. _That was what he was doing, wasn’t it? It’s what he’d done for two years while on the run. It’s what he’d done in the immediate aftermath of the prosthesis being blown off. It’s what he did, in some small part, when ignoring the stares and whispers as he walked past. But he didn’t have to, at least according to Ramirez. He _shouldn’t_ have to bear the discomfort. Yet somehow, he didn’t necessarily see that there was any alternative. 

“I’m going to tie the scarf across your body, and knot it against your right rib cage. If I may?”

“Sure.”

Ramirez resuming her work adjusting the fabric, she leaned into him, her hair falling over her shoulders in waves, their loose ends brushing against his skin. “Excuse me.” She said, moving around him, she pulled the scarf taut and tied the ends together, knotting them firmly. “Is that too tight? Can you breathe just fine?” Ramirez asked.

“Yeah. It’s good.” Bucky nodded, exhaling a deep breath.

“You might want to put your shirt back on Lobo Blanco, whettos don’t normally fare very well in the sun.” She smiled, her hands trailing over his shoulders before she sat back down on the grass beside him and resumed eating her mango.

“Thank you.” He said after a moment. He could feel his core body temperature dropping to a more tolerable level.

“No problem," Ramirez said, as she took another bite of her mango.

Bucky closed his eyes and inhaled a long breath. He could smell the dampness of the scarf, taste and smell the sweetness of the mango, feel the warmth of the sun against his bare skin, hear the sound of the water crashing over the falls. This was about as close to paradise as he would ever come, and he was closer to paradise than he deserved, but it wasn’t home. It wasn’t his home. His home was far away in a time and space that no longer existed.

Ramirez rolled onto her back and covering her face with her hands. There were dirt and bits of grass on her stomach, her legs bent, her feet flat on the ground, toes gripping into the damp soil and grass. She looked so vulnerable and open. _Fearless. _Wholly and utterly fearless. How was she handling all of this? It had been Christmas a few days ago. How was she handling being alone for the holidays? Being separated from friends and family, and anything remotely familiar? If it was bothering her, she certainly wasn’t letting on.

Bucky paused, thinking about the absolute relief that had crossed her expression when he’d produced the wedding bands. Perhaps she wasn’t handling all of this as well as he thought. Maybe she was having as hard of a time as he was with all of this.

Bucky watched her a moment longer, lounging in the grass as he mustered the courage to ask what he was getting ready to say. “You responded to Wilson’s audio message yet?”

She stiffened, glancing up at him. “No. You responded to Steve’s yet?”

“No.” He shook his head.

“Oh, thank god.” She breathed.

Bucky frowned. That wasn’t necessarily the reaction he’d expected from her. “What?”

“Oh. I thought I was the only one. I can’t for the life of me think of what I want to say.” She explained quickly.

“You too, huh?” He had to keep from smiling as relief washed over him. He _wasn’t_ the only one.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to say since last week, and it’s eating me up from the inside out," Ramirez admitted, biting the corner of her mouth, she shook her head. “It was a lot easier when I was stateside and had the ranch to report about.”

“You and Wilson exchanged letters?”

“When he and Riley were on tour, yeah. We did audio letters too. I have them somewhere.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what Sam wants to hear. I don’t want to _lie_, but then again, I don’t want to worry him either.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Ramirez paused, adjusting, she rolled over to look at him. “What a pair we are, Bucky Barnes.” She paused a moment before speaking again. “Did you get a message from Natasha?”

The question surprised him. It wasn’t that he was surprised Ramirez would be concerned about Natasha. It was that he was surprised she would mention anything about it to him. “No.” He shook his head. “Steve said that she’d found them, but didn’t provide much else in the way of detail.”

“Yeah. Sam too. He said that she sent her regards.” Ramirez sighed, rolling onto her back and throwing her arm over her face again. “I miss her.”

Y_eah, me too. _He didn’t say it. He didn’t really need to say it. Ramirez knew, perhaps not all, but enough about him and about his time with Hydra to know about him and Natasha. What surprised him was that Ramirez didn’t push. She never pushed, about anything, more or less. If he’d been in her place, he’d have thousands of questions, even after all the research she’d done. Yet, if she did, she kept them to herself. Bucky wasn’t quite sure what to think about that.

Bucky paused, pulled momentarily from his thoughts at the sound of Ramirez humming, just barely audible over the roar of the waterfall. _“There’ll be snow and mistletoe and presents under the tree.” _He recognized the tune.

“A fan of Bing Crosby?” Bucky inquired, breaking the silence.

“Yeah. Kinda? Sam sang some of it for the recording he sent me, and it’s been stuck in my head ever since. Why? You a fan?”

“I saw him once when he was touring with the USO.”

At this, Ramirez sat back up, starring. “What?”

“What do you mean, what? He toured with the USO, and Steve had connections being a hardened veteran of show business himself. Or did Steve fail to mention that?”

“Yeah, no. It never came up. The bastard.” Ramirez said, sounding more than a little scandalized.

At this, Bucky laughed. “I guess he also didn’t tell you that he personally plowed over Glenn Miller in an attempt to avoid his handler before a show in Alabama.”

“Yeah, that would also be a no.”

“So all you did for two years was sit around and talk about me then, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Well, not to inflate your ego anymore than this is going to, but yes, that sounds about right.”

“Sounds pretty boring.”

“Not as boring as you might think.” She chuckled, flopping back down into the grass.

“Really?”

“Really, James Barnes," Ramirez said. “Though I have to admit, your sister was far more forthcoming with the funny stories than Steve was.”

“Oh, no.”

“My particular favorite was about that time she found you naked out on the fire escape at six in the morning when you nearly made the little old lady across the way faint from the shock. What did Becca say her name was...?”

“Mrs. McGregor, Fanny McGregor. God...jeezus.” Bucky buried his face in his hand. “Why?”

“Because I was having a bad day, and your sister was trying to make me laugh.”

“Did it work?”

“Yes. Becca was a phenomenal storyteller.” Ramirez chuckled. “It’s not so bad, Barnes. I was once arrested for public indecency and animal endangerment.”

“I saw that in your record, what was it for?”

“Riding one of my friend’s horse around town bareback...while completely naked...” She paused, and to Bucky’s satisfaction went several shades of scarlet. “Well, almost completely, I was wearing a silver sequined cowgirl hat.”

“That sounds like a story. You tell my sister that one?”

“No. Heavens, no. I was never quite drunk enough to tell her that one.” Her voice went up nearly an entire octave until it was nearly manic. “I was in college, it was on a dare, and I was absolutely and completely trashed.”

“I bet.”

Ramirez rolled her eyes, though very clearly still embarrassed, shook her head. She sighed, “I miss your sister. Those first six months after...” She faded off, chewing on the inside of her mouth before continuing. “Those first few months after Last Chance, it was hard, losing everyone, losing my support network, Bill, Mike, Suzanne, but your sister gave me a sense of normalcy, a sense of direction.” Ramirez sighed, looking up at him. “She really was a terrific human being, and I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance to see one another again before she passed away.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say, what he could say. They fell back into silence as they sat in the shade, eating their mangos, and listening to the sounds of the waterfall and jungle around them.

Then, he heard it, the sound of Ramirez’s kimoyo bracelet buzzing. Sitting up, she groaned irritably. “Barnes, you _really_ should start wearing your kimoyo bracelet more.”

“Huh? Why’s that?”

“The Princess Shuri was trying to get ahold of you for something or another, then contacted Omondi, who went to find that you weren’t there, and so now they’re buzzing me.”

“Damn,” He grumbled, shaking his head. “What are they saying?’

“Just asking if you’re with me.” She answered with a sigh as she started typing in the message, paused, glancing over at him. “Do you want me to lie or tell the truth?”

“Lie?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I dunno, if you wanna avoid them or whatever. I’d be willing to cover.” A mischievous expression passed momentarily over her face.

“No. Tell them you’re with me and that I’ll be back in the village in thirty minutes.” Bucky replied with a heavy sigh as he turned to collect his shirt and scarf, which were both drying beside him.

“We should both probably head back.” She said as she sent the message.

“I didn’t mean to cut your outing short," Bucky said, a twinge of guilt twisting in the pit of his stomach.

“Not at all. I came, I saw, I swam, I chilled, and now I think I’m ready to go back and face reality for a little bit.” She shrugged, pulling the dress over her head, and buttoning the collar and cuffs.

“If you’re sure.” He said, tugging on his boots.

“I am.” She nodded.

“Do you want your scarf back?” He asked, watching as she twisted her hair into a tidy little bun on the top of her head.

“You can keep it, I think, in this heat, you need it more than I do.” She said.

“You don’t have to do that, I don’t want to take your stuff,” He stammered.

Ramirez paused, her right hand fiddling with the clasp of the bracelet he’d bought her for her birthday, “Consider it a Hanukkah present, and a thank you gift for finding and returning the wedding bands to me.”

Bucky paused, surveying her. _A Hanukkah present? A thank you gift? _He would’ve protested, but he got the nagging sensation that it would be a losing battle. Nodding in admitted defeat, he pulled on his shirt, fastening the buttons, before wrapping his scarf back around him.

“You ready then?” Ramirez asked, crouched by the water’s edge and refilling the water skin.

“Yeah.” He nodded, picking up her bag, he slung it over his shoulder.

Ramirez look at him, opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it as she re-sealed the water skin. “Shall we? Bucky Barnes? Handler of the bags, and protector of women?” She asked, with a wry smile.

He rolled his eyes but nodded, trying to ignore the way that his stomach fluttered at the sound of her saying his name, and they started walking back the way they’d come earlier in the afternoon.

_I have to find a way to get her back. I can’t just let her _give_ me her scarf. _He pondered as they walked. “So I was thinking,” He began slowly.

“That’s a dangerous past time,” Ramirez chuckled.

“Right?” Bucky agreed but pressed forward anyway. “Since it is still Hanukkah for the next few days, I was wondering if you’d like to come over to my place for dinner tonight, maybe finish up Gone with the Wind. I was thinking about trying to recreate my mother’s Latke recipe. Since you’ve had them more recently than I have, you’d have a keener sense of if my recipe is accurate than I would.”

Ramirez stopped and looked back at him, ”That’s really kind of you, Barnes, but I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Oh. Okay.” He nodded, hoping that she couldn’t see the look of disappointment he was sure was written across his face.

“I have some things I need to take care of. That message back to Sam for one. Can we do tomorrow?” She said as they started walking again.

“Well, I don’t exactly have any pressing appointments," Bucky said, glancing around. “So yeah, tomorrow sounds good.”

“Awesome, what time?”

“How does seven sound?”

“Perfect.” Ramirez smiled as they entered the clearing where they’d met earlier in the afternoon. “I believe this is where we part ways, Bucky Barnes. My bag, please.”

“Of course.” He nodded, removing the bag and extending it to her.

She took the bag with both hands and slung the strap across her chest. “Thank you for going on an adventure with me today. I hope you had fun.”

“Yeah. We should do it again sometime.”

“For sure.” She paused, adjusting the bag. “So, tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then. Let me know if I can bring anything.”

“I think I can manage, but I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”

“Awesome. Have a good evening Barnes.”

“You too, Ramirez.”

There was a slight pause as they both made eye contact, and there was something in her expression that made Bucky pause. Before he could put his finger on what exactly it was, she smiled, nodded, and started walking back toward the horse village.

So she was going back to the village to send off her recording to Sam. Maybe, whenever he’d settled whatever it was that the Princess needed from him, he’d send off his message to Steve. He just might have something to say now, and with the promise of Latkes wafting in the air, he’d be able to send off a good message to Steve.

Watching until she disappeared from sight, Bucky turned and headed back down the path he’d come just a few hours before.

-

Maggie could feel his gaze on her as she walked away, and she smiled. That had been fun, had been a lot of fun, and from the sounds of it, Barnes had enjoyed himself as well, which felt like a big win all around. Aside from that, they’d made plans for tomorrow, which meant that she had something to look forward to, something to keep her mind off everything else swirling in her brain.

She made it back to the village and ducked inside.

Digging the wedding bands and chain out of the bag, she draped the chain around the Our Lady of Guadalupe statue and placed the rings on the statue’s hands.

Maggie smiled gently as she stroked the statue’s face. _Someday you’ll be able to take off those wedding bands without feeling like you’re removing a part of yourself. Not today, not for a while yet, but eventually, it won’t hurt quite so much._ She could hear Becca say, back in her living room, what felt like a thousand years ago.

It hadn’t felt that way this afternoon when she’d been so frantic she’d nearly made herself sick. It had felt like the world was ending, felt like everything was going to be crashing down around her. But then, it hadn’t, and once the initial panic had passed, she’d been able to move forward. She was thankful that Barnes had found them and was glad to have them back, of course, but she wouldn’t put them on a new chain and wouldn’t have them chain clasp repaired. Having them on her grandmother’s statue would be enough. It hurt, but it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as she thought it would.

_You’re healing._ She would’ve told her clients, had this been one of them. Instead, it was just her and her thoughts, and she had no one to tell, no one to remark on her slow, very slow progress. Maybe that was okay too.

Picking up the Kimoyo bead, she sat down and hit record. “Hey, Sammie! Thank you for your message. I’m glad to hear that you’re doing well and that the gang is together and likewise in good spirits and health.” She began brightly. “Sorry, it took me so long to get back to you. I wasn’t quite sure what to say.” She admitted. “I’m doing okay here, doing my best to settle into a routine. I really have enjoyed working with horses again. It’s been fun.” Maggie paused, taking in a deep breath. “Barnes and I have been hanging out, watching movies from the AFI’s 100 greatest American films list. Apparently, Steve has some strong feelings about Citizen Kane you need to ask him about. We went to the falls today, and I jumped off a big ledge into the water, which you know how I am about heights. I was concerned that Barnes was going to have to come and extract me from the top.” She chuckled. “But we’re good, I’m good. We’re doing well here.” Maggie paused again, looking around, a small smile turned up the corners of her mouth. Taking a deep breath, she began to sing. “Have yourself a merry little Christmas, make the let your heart be light, from now on your troubles will be out of sight.” She continued singing.

The hut didn’t have the best acoustics, her voice was pitchy, but she managed through the whole thing without her voice wavering. And she wished, with all of her heart, with all of her might for the lyrics to be true. That their troubles would be miles away, that they’d all be able to gather nearer to one another than they were now, and that perhaps they’d be able to spend the years together, all of them, together, happy, like they’d been so very briefly that first holiday season together.

However, for now, it would just be her and Barnes. And while she never would admit it, it felt good to have a friend, to have James Barnes as her friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a Brief Note: the whole "Steve meets Glenn Miller" thing, yeah...that's a fic I wrote because I'm terrible, and self-promoting, and come on, steve as a showgirl is excellent. 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/17992895
> 
> This chapter was GARGANTUAN! But I hope it was a lot of fun to read. We got a little bit of serious, a little bit of funny, a little bit of silly, and yes a WHOLE BIG DISNEY Mood.


	11. Gone With the Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
>   
TW: self-harm, mentioned animal death, blood
> 
> Recommended Listening: Ugly Side by Blue October; The Run and Go by Twenty One Pilots; When You Were Young by The Killers
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=m7T3dEh3QmG5zYcNXNS6LA

The day had been a total clusterfuck, and that was putting it lightly. It was always staggering to Maggie how much could change in a few hours, never mind in a whole twenty-four, and as she walked toward the village where Barnes resided, she wasn’t entirely sure what exactly she was walking into.

For her part, she’d been thrown from her horse, Skywalker. She’d been learning a new technique, hadn’t been paying attention, and the horse had decided that enough was enough. She’d been thrown from the saddle and had landed incorrectly on her left hand and wrist. That had been early in the day. So she’d spent most of her day with her hand on ice, moping around the workshop, trying to wile the hours away.

It was while she’d been doing a bit of cleaning up and trying not to feel sorry for herself that she’d overheard a conversation between Jelani and Omondi. Her Wakandan still wasn’t great, but she knew enough to catch White Wolf, goat, dead. Not exactly a lot to go off of, but Maggie knew that whatever had happened, it hadn’t been a good situation. Losing an animal, under any circumstance, was never easy. She’d lived on a ranch for most of her life, and occasionally shit just happened. It had happened to her on the ranch, and it hadn't been a good situation. No more than two weeks after Riley had died, Last Chance had gotten one hell of a bad thunderstorm. A horse, one of Riley’s favorites, had kicked her way out of the stall and barn and had impaled herself on a fence post. By the time Maggie had found her, it was too late, and there was nothing to do for the poor creature but to put it out of its misery. 

It had been a crushing blow, but Maggie had been able to handle it as a professional. Whatever had happened with Barnes and his goat, it couldn't have been an easy thing, and she could imagine that he was taking it personally. Her first instinct had, of course, been to call and cancel their standing dinner date...arrangement. There was no reason to put him through social interaction after an ordeal like that. Something, however, had stopped her. Barnes, for one, hadn’t called to cancel, indicating in some small part that he _wanted_ her around or was looking for her company. If he didn’t want her around in the aftermath, certainly he would’ve called and said something, right?

Maggie didn’t know, and as she walked down the now familiar path toward his dwelling, she could feel a swelling sense of anxiety. The unknown factors all creating a churning bubbling mess of dread in the pit of her stomach.

Then she smelled it, the smell of utter despair, burnt food. It was the harsh, horrible smell of a kind of defeat. At least that’s the way that she had always felt about the smell and the experience, and a likely indication for how their evening was going to progress.

Rounding the last bend toward his hut, she saw him, hunched over a squat little table, trying to manage a grater and potato with one hand. There were marks on his hand and arm, indicating that he’d somehow been hurt, although the nature of the injury Maggie couldn’t tell from a distance. She could see the source of the burning smell, a large pan discarded in the dirt, the greasy, charred remains caked inside.

None of this was a good sign on its own, but as she approached, he didn’t lookup. Instead, his eyes were down, and his mouth moving in silent mutterings.

“Hey,” She said as she approached, doing her best to ease herself into his periphery as gently as possible.

He flinched at the sound, not looking up to meet her gaze. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Maggie nodded as she set her bag down on one of the logs surrounding the cooking fire and turned to join him at the low squat table. “I am a little late. I should’ve called to let you know I was running behind.” She paused, her resolve momentarily wavering before she charged on anyway. “I’m sorry about what happened. That’s never an easy thing.”

There was a long leaden pause. His head still down, Maggie could see him grit his jaw, swallowing hard before biting out. “You heard about that?”

“I did.” She nodded, stooping down to pick up the pan, she gingerly picked it up and carried it to the compost bin, scraping it out.

“Is that why you’re here?” He asked flatly.

“I figured we’d made plans yesterday, and I'm anxious to cross another movie off our list,” Maggie paused as she walked over to the table. Standing over him, she waited for him to look up at her. She knew that his face would tell her everything she needed to know about what had happened.

“Is that all?” His voice was dry and scathing, but not, Maggie felt, entirely directed at her.

“Well. You didn’t exactly cancel. I figured that you might want the company.”

Barnes sighed, his shoulders sagging, and he looked up at her. “Who told you?”

There was anger, frustration, but most of all, sadness in his expression as he surveyed her. Maggie knew, in her heart of hearts, that whatever had happened, Barnes had been forced to put the poor creature out of its misery, and that he felt personally responsible for the animal’s gristly end. “No one did, actually. I overheard Jelani and Omondi talking, caught some key phrases, and was able to piece together some of what had happened.” She explained slowly. Maggie paused, “May I sit down? Or do you want me to go away?”

Maggie watched as he mulled things over, clicking his jaw, as he did. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he nodded, and Maggie slowly sunk down across from him, collecting a rag, she doused it with cooking oil before setting about the task of cleaning and reconditioning the pan so that they could resume using it.

“I take it the first round of latkes didn’t come out right.” She commented dryly as she worked, determined to find some way to break the silence, and lighten the mood.

“Not exactly.

“Well,” Maggie continued without pause, “Whatever the case, you have all the proper equipment. This pan is tremendously well seasoned. How long have you been using it?”

“Since September.” He said flatly. “It was a gift from Omondi. He said he was looking to replace his, thought I could use it.”

“Shit. Does he have any other well-seasoned pans just lying around? If I even tried to borrow my abuela’s cast iron, I would’ve been drawn and quartered. This pan must be a dream to cook with. Omondi must like you, or doubt your ability to season one properly yourself.” She said, wincing as she moved her left wrist the wrong way.

“What happened to your hand?”

“Oh." She hadn't expected that. S_o he’d noticed. He’s not entirely in his head._ Maggie wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not but decided that she’d let that work itself out in due time. "I fell off Skywalker today.”

“You okay?” His tone was sharp and brittle, but his expression bore the faintest lines of concern.

“Yeah,” she nodded with a slight exhale. “Landed wrong, my wrist isn’t happy about it. I’m sure I’ll be right as rain in a few days. It did take me a little longer to make the snacks for this evening. Between dexterity issues and an aching wrist, it was not a good time.”

_It freaked me the fuck out, but yeah, otherwise perfectly dandy. _It had been a while since she'd been thrown like that, and she'd fallen all wrong. Bad shit could happen if you didn't fall right. She'd seen it first hand. But he didn't need to know that, not when he was dealing with his own barrage of horrible things.

“I can imagine.”

Maggie looked down, watching what he was doing a little more carefully. Blisters had formed where he’d been burned by the hot oil from the pan she was cleaning. Then there were scratches, cuts, and light bruising up and down his forearm that hadn't been there the day prior. Were they a result of what had happened today? It didn't matter. At the moment, He was struggling to keep a firm grip on the potato, which kept slipping over the grater’s surface, mangling the potato he was attempting to slice up. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He bit out.

As he said it, the potato he was grating slipped, and he jammed his thumb along the grater’s surface, taking a sizable chunk out of his nail bed, and knuckle. Barnes jumped up and back, nearly upsetting the table.

Maggie grabbed both corners, steadying the table before standing up, towel in hand ready to leap, if necessary, into action, and froze mid-motion, trying to take in everything she was seeing.

He was just standing there, looking at his hand as his thumb blossomed a magnificent red bloom. His eyes were transfixed, his chest heaving, and yet Maggie couldn’t help but notice, his face was smooth and flat. _This,_ she realized, was self-harm or something approximating self-harm, and now her job was to find a way to break the spiral he found himself in before it devolved into something else.

_Is that really your job?_ The mean little voice in the back of her head questioned.

_Why the fuck wouldn’t it be? I’m not just a therapist. He’s my friend._ She would’ve responded full chested, had she responded out loud at all.

Instead, she looked Barnes up and down, “Barnes?” She called, with no response as he watched the blood run down his arm and drip from his elbow into the dust. “Bucky.”

His eyes snapped up, locking with hers, something between anger and fear, filling them as they maintained eye contact. “You’re bleeding. Let me staunch the blood flow and help you bandage your hand and arm.”

“I’m fine. It’s fine. I can do it myself.” He snapped, even as his voice shook, his eyes darting down and around.

“Okay.” She nodded, taking a metaphorical step back.

This was familiar. She recognized this. This was the anger she’d had when she’d needed Sam to help her wash her hair those first few months. This was the pain, anger, and frustration she’d felt when trying to relearn to play guitar. This was the feeling of helplessness and anger when you knew that only a few months ago, you would never have had this problem. Barnes was experiencing that right now. Only his was worse. He’d lost the same arm twice. He’d been forced into a life of brainwashing and torture. He'd been made to commit atrocity after atrocity, where his only respite had come by being shoved into a freezer and left until next use for years on end. If one could call that a respite. He had been through so much without time to process what had happened and what it meant. Now, after he'd finally had a quiet moment, tragedy had struck, and all of _this_ was rearing its ugly head.

_So, where do you fit in?_

Maggie wasn’t quite sure. If he didn’t want her help, she couldn’t exactly force him to accept, while at the same time, she couldn’t let the guy hurt himself. He wasn’t her client, and she wasn’t his therapist, but he was her friend, and she wanted to find a way to help him without crossing that very precarious threshold.

“I understand that you can do this on your own," Maggie said slowly. "You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, of getting by on your own," she faltered as his gaze snapped back to her. “But the thing is, you don’t have to.” She concluded lamely. 

It wasn't her best line, but something crossed his expression, something unreadable, and after a long moment, he nodded and extended his hand toward her.

Maggie crossed the space between them, stopping before they met. “I’m going to wrap your thumb with this towel, squeeze it in your palm to stop the bleeding while I get my first-aid kit from my bag.” She paused, glancing up at him. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” He breathed, nodding firmly.

“Okay.” She moved, quickly wrapping his thumb, watched as he squeezed it with his other fingers before she went for her bag, aware of the ways his eyes watched her.

They were back in the outbuilding once again. Only this time, she knew what he was capable of. Though she would admit it did help the situation slightly, he_ was _down an arm, hadn’t just been stabbed, and wasn’t running away from Hydra. That aside, there was still that wild-eyed panic that she’d recognize anywhere that resided in his expression.

“You carry a first aid kit with you?” He asked dryly as she dug through her bag.

“I do.” She nodded, retrieving the desired items. “It’s always handy to have one around. I’ve done that ever since I worked as an EMT back in college.” It was a good sign that he was talking. It meant that he wasn’t immediately hyper-fixating on anything.

“Handy,” He chuckled mirthlessly.

_Naturally. __S_he’d let him have that one, at the very least.

“All right. let’s sit down on the log, that way I can face you, and see what I’m doing.” She said as she swung her leg over the log and sat down.

Barnes said nothing, moving toward her, he sat straddling the log to face her. Opening the first aid kit, she flexed her left hand, rubbing it gingerly with her right. He was watching her. For what purpose, she didn’t know exactly, but somehow the observation made her stomach twist in nervous knots.

_Well, this is all very familiar. _She glanced up at him and sighed, “Okay. So while we wait for the bleeding to stop, I can clean and dress those scrapes and burns on your hand and arm.”

“Oh.” He said flatly.

“Oh?” She echoed, pulling her hands away from the first aid kit.

“I should’ve guessed you’d noticed that," Barnes replied, not quite sheepishly, but close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades.

What exactly he meant by that, she didn’t know, but the sheer amount of shame in his voice made Maggie do a metaphorical double take. _I can do it myself._ That’s what he’d said.

Maggie knew that feeling, probably more than she cared to admit. The shame and anger as she tried to figure out how to wash or put up her hair or button her jeans without help. That and the countless other things she’d needed help with when her hand had been in the various stages of surgery, pins, and cast. The frustration and fury she'd felt when after she’d gotten the cast and pins out and off, she'd started figuring out the countless things that she couldn’t do anymore, that she would never be able to do anymore. She’d been alone with that feeling of helplessness of anger, and she didn’t want Barnes to be alone with that now.

“I don’t know what you’re going through, not exactly.” She said slowly. “But I know some of what it’s like to feel so helplessly and completely angry about a situation that you can’t think straight. That anger, that’s okay, it’s okay to be angry at your situation, at what happened to you, at what was done to you, but don’t let that anger convince you that you deserve to hurt, or convince you that you’re alone, because you’re not alone, and you don’t deserve to hurt. Don’t let it consume you when you’re so much more than what it’s telling you that you are.”

Barnes surveyed her a moment, his eyes searching for something, and then wordlessly, he nodded and extended his arm to her.

“All right." She explained, removing the appropriate items from her kit, wincing slightly as her wrist twinged. "I have an anti-bacterial for the scrapes and an aloe for the burns. I’ll apply the aloe to the burns first. That'll alleviate the immediate discomfort."

“You don’t have to help if it’s hurting your hand and wrist," he mumbled, as if searching for some way out of this, some way to let her off the hook if she wanted.

“I’ll let you know," Maggie answered, pausing as she unscrewed the aloe. “It’s not so bad anymore. It certainly has gotten better since you gave me the bracelet,” She hazarded a glance up at him and found him avidly avoiding her gaze. “But, thank you for your concern.” She said as she started applying the aloe with her left hand, her right hand holding his arm steady.

He winced, hissing between his teeth.

“It’s a little cold. Sorry. I should’ve said something.”

“I’ve had worse.” He bit out shortly.

“Certainly. At least this time, there isn’t a knife protruding from your shoulder. By that measure alone, we’re going up in the world.”

Barnes snorted, shaking his head, but didn’t try to pull away from her grasp even as his hand shook.

“Nevertheless, the same rules apply, let me know if I’m hurting you.”

“It’s just cold.”

“Well, all the same,” Maggie said as she worked.

He nodded, but said nothing, watching her with those bright eyes. He was the perfect patient. He let her manipulate his hand and held it still, although she could feel him trembling.

Maggie wanted to tell him it was going to be okay, that this feeling would pass. There were any number of platitudes that she would’ve said in soothing tones, had she thought any of them might have helped. But she knew they wouldn’t, and so instead, she hummed, focusing on completing her task quickly while trying to minimize as much of Barnes’s discomfort as she could possibly manage.

“And we’re done!” She announced as she finished securing the bandage around his thumb. “How does that feel? Better?” Maggie asked brightly, feeling more like the school nurse than someone patching up a former brainwashed assassin.

“Better.” He agreed. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Anytime.” Maggie smiled gently, watching as he slowly withdrew his hand and rose to his feet. She wanted to call him back. She wanted to reach out and grab his hand and hold it in both of hers and tell him it was going to be okay. She wanted the pain drawn lines in his expression to ease, and for him to smile and laugh as they'd done only twenty-four hours before.

The feeling came over her so suddenly, and with such force, she almost didn’t know what to do with herself. _What are you doing, Magdalene? _She would’ve screamed.

_He’s my friend!_

And it was true. He was her friend. She was concerned for him. Now, whether or not she was just a convenient distraction for him, she didn’t know, and at this point, she was afraid to find out.

“Hey, Barnes.” She called, watching as he stopped, his back to her before he slowly turned to face her.

“Yeah?”

“It _is _okay that I’m here, right?” She asked uncertainly.

“What do you mean?” He replied, perplexed.

“I mean. Do you _want_ me here? I can leave if you want.”

Barnes hesitated, looking her over a moment before speaking again. “Why are you doing this, Ramirez?”

“Well...” She began slowly. “I was having a bit of a shit day yesterday, and you came to my rescue, were game for an adventure, and we had a lovely time. Since you never called to cancel after what happened, I figured you might be looking for a distraction or even a sympathetic ear.” Maggie paused, chewing on the corner of her mouth. “This living in Wakanda thing is hard, and a friend would be nice to have, someone to turn to when shit gets bad. And well, the shit that happened, that's not something you should have to deal with on your own.”

Barnes nodded, lowering his gaze. “I don’t think you want me as a friend, Ramirez.”

Was that an “I don’t want you as a friend so you shouldn’t want to be my friend” type comment, or, “I’m not someone you should want as a friend” type comment? Maggie wasn’t sure. So she wasn’t going to attempt to guess.

“Well, fortunately for both of us, you don’t get to decide who I want to be friends with.” She paused as he shifted uncomfortably. “But then again, I don’t get to decide who you want to be friends with _either. _The only question you have to answer is, do you want me as your friend?”

“It’s all as easy as that, huh?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, not quite. Friendship and all relationships, for that matter, are a moment by moment exercise in consent. Two willing participants. Choosing when and how they wish to interact and communicating their desires with one another.”

“Sounds novel.” He commented wryly.

“Right? Well. It only works if both people are honest,” She said slowly. “Which makes this next question important. Do you-”

“Do you want to stay?” He asked, cutting her off.

Maggie exhaled with a small chuckle as she shook her head, “that’s not the point.”

“I think that is the point, Ramirez. You were just the one talking about two willing participants.”

“I’m also the one who’s in your home, invading your space after you had a shitty day.”

There was a long pause as if Barnes was drawing in a long breath. “Stay.” He said, forming the word purposefully. “I want...” He faltered. “I want you to stay.” He concluded firmly. Barnes stopped, glancing back down and around at what remained of the potatoes and the rest of dinner that still needed to be prepared. “Although, I’m not sure if dinner is in the equation.”

“Will you walk me through it?” Maggie asked hesitantly.

“Huh?”

“I’m willing to make dinner if you tell me what to do.”

He paused, a slight twinge of a self-deprecating smile twisted at the corner of his mouth. “I should hurt myself more often if it means having a beautiful dame patch me up and cook me dinner.”

If it had been anyone else or even another circumstance, Maggie might have protested. Instead, she chuckled, cracking a small smile of her own. “Why James Barnes, ever know a woman who wasn’t a doll or a dame?”

Barnes shook his head, “What was the line Dana Andrews responded with?”

“Yeah, one, but she kept walking me past furniture windows to look at the parlor suites.” Maggie supplied.

“So the line, ‘A doll from Washington Heights once got a fox fur out of me’ that comes before or after that exchange?” Barnes said, squinting into the air as if straining to recall.

“Yeah, before.” She nodded. “So, how ‘bout it, Bucky Barnes?” He looked back at her, brows furrowed. “Dinner?”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” He hesitated, “You’d probably have a better feel for the latkes than I would at the moment. If you’re willing to take my instruction.”

“Absolutely.”

“Then it sounds like a plan.” 

"Sounds good." She smiled. It might only be dinner, but for now, it seemed that they were headed in the right direction.

-

Ramirez jumped quickly into action. Cleaning up the first aid kit and stowing it away, she sunk down at the squat table where he’d been working and started back grating potatoes, after she’d washed and cleaned all of the stuff he’d gotten blood on. Bucky watched as Ramirez worked the grater and expertly added and mixed everything together, forming and patting the potatoes into their proper shape. 

She hummed pleasantly as she worked, her eyes focused on her task, occasionally asking him for guidance, though he couldn’t help but notice that she already knew the answer before he’d even said it. Her hands and her mouth worked separately. Becca or Steve’d obviously coached her during her time with them. He couldn’t help but imagine the chaos that would have been Becca’s kitchen during any number of family holidays and gatherings. Steve towering over the group, too big and in the way, Ramirez diminutive and trying her best to keep her distance as an outsider, while Becca and the rest of her family surged in around them, pushing them both to the center of the fray.

He felt jealous, angry, hurt, and somehow confused all at once. What he was feeling, and why he was feeling it swirled inside him, creating a maelstrom. It wasn’t fair, none of it was fair, and he could still feel the anger, simmering just below the surface. He felt shame too, and it welled in his chest, nearly overtaking the sour, bitter taste of the anger that threatened to devour him completely.

His left shoulder was stinging, a sharp pain in his spine, the air where his left hand and arm _should _have been burned and ached. It had been stinging all day, ever since...well, what had happened had happened. His right hand, _his only hand _he mentally corrected, was throbbing, the little cuts and bruises, and burns stinging and aching as he flexed his fingers.

He could see it still, the goat staring up at him, eyes glassy and wide, practically begging for the end. Of course, he’d put the poor creature out of its misery, but then again, that’s really all he was good at, wasn’t it? He’d been good at it as a soldier. He’d been even better at it when he’d been with Hydra. Now, even thousands of miles away from that rat hole, missing a limb, and allegedly free from their programming, he was still in their insidious clutches. He was still capable of causing pain, suffering, and death.

Omondi had assured him that he’d done the right thing, that sometimes these things happened.

_But they shouldn’t. I should’ve been able to stop it. I should be better than this._

He hadn’t said that, but he felt it, in his bones, down to the very fiber of his being. He felt inadequate. He felt useless. He felt like a complete and total idiot for thinking that he might be able to move past what had happened to him, for thinking he could be something more than what Hydra had made him into. Yet here they were.

Bucky glanced up at Ramirez, who was patiently waiting for the oil to heat as she prepped the rest of dinner. He’d invited her over for dinner to thank her for being his friend, and now here she was patching him up and cooking him dinner, yet again.

_Why is she doing this?_

He’d asked her that. And she’d said because she’d wanted a friend, that she’d wanted to be his friend. Because she was bored? Because she was lonely? He didn’t know, and as she’d said, he didn’t get to decide why she wanted to be friends with him.

“How’s your hand feeling?”

“Better," Bucky replied with a slight exhale, doing his best to relieve the tension still balled up in his chest, trying to claw it’s way out.

“That’s good, I’m glad," Ramirez commented, placing the first of the latkes into the pan. She hummed to herself, her eyes watching the potatoes as they bobbed in the oil.

“Do you like cooking?” He asked slowly after a moment as she flipped the potato cakes over.

“Some.” She nodded, “I prefer cooking for other people. There’s just something about cooking a meal with and for other people that I really enjoy. I don’t know if it’s a me thing, a Mexican thing, or what, but I’ve always enjoyed the fellowship a good meal creates.” Ramirez glanced up at him and smiled gently. “How about you, Barnes? Did you pick up any good recipes while you were out in the world?”

“A few.”

“You’ll have to share some time. I’d be happy to give you some of mine if you’d like. Do you keep kosher?” She asked brightly without skipping a beat as she scooped the first latkes out of the oil and placed them on a plate beside her before placing the next batch in the oil.

The latkes were golden brown and glistening, and the smell that wafted off of them made his mouth water. He could practically hear his mother scold and swat him away as he tried to sneak one before it was time. The force of the memory was so strong that he could feel tears start to well in the corners of his eyes.

“Taste test my work, see if it’s up to snuff," Ramirez commented.

“You sure?” He managed, blinking.

“Absolutely. I need to know if I need to change anything before I do the rest of them.”

He gingerly picked up one of the little potato cakes and took a careful bite, exhaling as the hot greasy mass burned the inside of his mouth. That hadn’t changed at all, and the taste...the taste was close, as was the consistency, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly was off as Ramirez’s expression of expectation grew and spread in anticipation. “It’s good.” He said, swallowing the first bite.

“May I?” She motioned with her chin to the latke he was holding.

“Huh?”

“Shove some in my face? My hands are occupied, but I’d like a taste test.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” He rose, extending the latke to her, watched as she took a careful bite, likewise contemplating what she was tasting.

Chewing and swallowing, she glanced up at him. “So, what’s the verdict, Barnes?”

“What do you think?”

“I mean, I’m trying to recreate your mother’s latke recipe. You tell me.” She chuckled, removing the next round of potatoes.

Bucky hesitated. What was he supposed to say? What did she want him to say? She was here, making him dinner when he’d specifically invited her over so he could make her dinner, and now she asked him to critique her cooking. “It’s close.” He admitted after a moment.

Ramirez nodded in consensus. “Yeah. Your niece, Stephanie, and I tried to get Becca to write down the recipe. She followed Becca around with a set of measuring cups and spoons while Becca was making the latkes and wrote down all the pinch, dash, etc. Still not quite right. Then again, Becca said the same thing about her latkes too.”

“Abby and Rachel were always the ones helping ma’ with dinner. Becca always found a way _not_ to be in the kitchen when food was being made.” Bucky commented distantly.

“That sounds about right.” Ramirez chuckled. “So. What do I add? What do I take away?”

“I dunno.” He frowned, shaking his head. “That’s a pretty good base recipe. We’ll have to play with it a bit. There _are_ a few more days of Hanukah left to perfect the recipe.”

“Sounds good. I did bring apple sauce to eat with them, since I know that was something your nieces and nephew insisted had to be present as well. You can get it out of my bag if you’d like, but be careful. I have the buñuelos on top.”

“Buñuelos?” He echoed as he rose and crossed the yard to where her bag was sitting.

“Crunchy tortillas with sugar and cinnamon.” She explained quickly, as she added the final round of latkes into the pan.

“Ah.” He said as he removed both containers and returned to the small table.

“Bit of a Christmas tradition for my family, something I didn’t get to make this year.” She commented lightly. She paused, shaking her head.

“What?” Bucky asked.

“This whole situation sounds like a bad set up to an even worse joke.”

“The one-armed Jew and the Mexican-American Catholic walk into a bar?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, doing his best to ease the angry, bitter edge from his voice.

“Something like that.” She nodded with a sigh, a heaviness sinking onto her shoulders. “You never did tell me if you keep kosher.”

“Oh.” He said shortly. “No. I don’t. Why?”

“Trying to be respectful of your culture and traditions. Becca kept kosher, as did her kids. Steve and Wanda, not as much. I guess I wanted to know how bad I should feel for feeding you pork while you were with me on the ranch,” She explained, starting on the roasted chicken and greens, as the last of the latkes came out of the oil.

“That.” He stopped as a lump formed in his throat. “That’s very kind of you, Ramirez. But regardless of if I keep kosher, there are exceptions to those rules when it comes to emergency medical situations.”

_Besides, at the time, I didn’t know who I was, never mind what faith I belonged to and it’s particular practices._

Bucky could still only vaguely remember those first days. He’d been barely conscious, never mind human, but he did remember the green chili stew broth she’d given him. It had been the first thing he’d been able to hold down on his stomach after Hydra. Yet, it wasn’t just the broth. It wasn’t just the food that she’d given him to help him regain his strength. It was the trust she’d shown by allowing him around her, her clients, her volunteers, her property, and her animals. It was the fact that she was one of the first to treat him like a human, like a person since Hydra had taken him. She’d taken him in, and she’d protected him, she’d saved him.

He licked his lips, unable to formulate what he was trying to piece together. How could he express that to her? That she had prevented Hydra from finding him just long enough so he could get away. That the very reason he was Bucky Barnes and not back in a Hydra facility as the Winter Soldier again was in large part because of her bravery and willingness to help someone who frankly wasn't worth saving. It was too much to try to say.

“It’s good to know regardless. However, now I know that I can make my green chili stew again without having to find pork alternatives,” She shrugged. 

Bucky nodded, looking her over. “Thank you. For all this. You didn’t have to.” It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough, but it was all he could manage at the moment

“You found the two rings I’d lost, and you helped me the other week with my hand, and you bought me a shaved ice.”

“You’re not keeping score, are you? Because I don’t think any number of shaved ices is going to balance the scales.”

“Well.” She answered deliberately. “I don’t see it as keeping score. I see it as friends helping one another out. Yanno, being friends.”

_You don’t want to be my friend, Ramirez._ He wanted to say, but they’d already had that conversation, and it wasn’t one that he was going to be able to win.

_Friendships are a moment by moment exercise in consent. _

But what about trust? Did she trust him? Could he trust himself? He didn’t have an answer, or rather, didn’t have an answer he liked at the moment.

“All right. Dinner is ready.” Ramirez announced, and the task of fixing plates and settling down to eat filled the empty space between them.

Everything was delicious, and her homemade applesauce complimented the salt and spice of the rest of the meal. Once dinner had concluded, they moved in tandem to clean the dishes before Ramirez unwrapped her package of buñuelos, and he set about the task of making their customary popcorn.

Then before they could go inside his hut to start the film, Ramirez hesitated. “Are you sure you’re up for watching the rest of the film?”

Was this her out? Was this her way to quietly excuse herself and avoid further contact with him?

_No. Moment by moment exercise in consent, remember?_

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Okay,” she said, eyeing him uncertainly. “It's just---I mean, now that I’ve come and tormented you with my presence and made sure you’ve eaten dinner, do you want me to leave you in peace? You’re not obligated to spend your evening with me just because we made plans.” She said.

“Tormented?” He echoed. "I wouldn't call what you did torment."

“Then what would you call it? Being patched up by a beautiful dame? That was the expression you used earlier.” A playful smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, before she looked down, the slightest hint of a blush rising on the apples of her cheeks. Clearing her throat and smoothing her expression, she looked back up at him. “In all seriousness, though, I don’t want to subject you to me if you’d rather be left alone.”

Bucky nodded, thinking through what he wanted to say next.

If this had been an hour ago, he would’ve told her to leave. He would’ve been content to wallow, to lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling as his self-loathing and all the horrifying things he _didn’t_ want to think about crowded around him and filled his brain with even worse thoughts. Earlier, when she’d asked, he hadn’t even been sure he could stomach eating anything, never mind maintain enough mental and physical energy to have her around long enough to finish the movie. Yet, selfishly, he'd told her yes, stay, that he _wanted_ her to stay. He had wanted her to stay, but more out of concern for what he might do if she left, rather than for the pleasure of her company. Now, he wasn’t sure what he _wanted_, or furthermore what he should _do. _Shouldn’t he tell her to go home, that he wasn’t good company, and that they could watch the movie some other night? Wouldn’t that be the responsible thing?

However, If he was honest, he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, selfish though it was, and so he’d ask Ramirez to stay, whether she accepted was entirely up to her.

_A moment to moment exercise in consent._

“I’d like you to stay.” He said slowly. “So long as that’s okay with you.”

“That sounds good to me.”

Bucky nodded, and they moved wordlessly into his hut, and sat down on his sleeping mat, positioning their snacks and drinks around them, before turning on the film. Dimming the lights, Bucky could feel the knot in his chest ease slightly as he felt her relax beside him in the dark. There was a certain level of familiarity and comfort to the whole thing now, watching a movie, eating snacks, in the dark with her.

He did his best to focus on the movie, but he remembered now why he’d fallen asleep twice in the theaters. It just went on too damn long. Now he found himself having a hard time focusing on what was going on. At the very least, it seemed that Ramirez was enjoying herself, although out of the corner of his eye, he could see her blinking heavily, her eyes drooping, her head bobbing in that unmistakable sign of nodding off.

“You okay?” He murmured just below the movie’s audio, but loud enough that she could hear him.

“Hmmm yeah, fine.” She answered, rubbing her eyes sleepily as she pulled his border tribe blanket closer to her. “My eyes are tired.”

_You can go home if you want to._ He almost said it, but couldn’t quite form the words.

Bucky wanted her here with him. Her presence was calming, comforting even. He found that even when his thoughts had been loud, she’d been a fixed point that could cut through all of the noise. What perhaps surprised Bucky most was that she’d been here, again, without him even having to ask, to extend the hand of friendship and pull him out of his head when he needed it most. She’d said it, multiple times and in multiple ways: friends, friendship, this is what friends do, and you don’t have to do it alone.

That sentiment, that statement, the combination of action and words, that wasn’t out of boredom or obligation. It couldn’t be. And she certainly wasn’t here because this was all a barrel of laughs. Which could only mean she was here because she knew he was having a bad day, not despite it. She was here because she saw him as a friend.

_I’m a friend, not just a way to pass the time._

He turned that thought over and over in his mind. It was the only logical conclusion for why she’d decided to show up and further had more decided to stay when he wasn’t exactly the most pleasant company at the moment.

He was angry. He was moody and unbalanced. He was dangerous. What puzzled him was that Ramirez knew all of that, on an academic and practical level. She knew all of that, and yet here she was, extending the hand of friendship when he was wholly unworthy and perhaps incapable of being a good friend in return.

Bucky froze at the sensation of pressure against his right shoulder, and he looked over and down to find Ramirez slumped against him, eyes closed, breathing even, face smooth.

He opened his mouth to wake her but hesitated.

_She trusts me. She trusts me enough to fall asleep in my presence, to let her guard down so completely and totally that she was able to nod off here in the dark with me._

Bucky stayed perfectly still, watching as she adjusted her position slightly, her head and shoulder against his shoulder and arm, her hair falling from its messy bun and streaming over their shoulders. He knew he should probably wake her, but he wanted to take in this moment a little longer.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he exhaled a long, slow, shaking breath.

It had been a very long, tough day. Tomorrow would likewise be long and difficult, as well. But this, right here, with Ramirez, whatever it was, he felt like he could breathe, like a little bit of the world had lifted off his shoulders, and had dulled the pain away, if only for a little bit. This, he decided, was friendship, and he wanted it, and furthermore wanted to deserve her friendship.

Opening his eyes, he slowly moved his arm and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders as she leaned even further into him, her breathing deep and even, her expression peaceful.

And the movie played on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, so sorry I'm posting later in the week than normal. It may be a little touch and go for the next little while, finishing out my semester, doing some research, and traveling over winter break. I am really excited about the upcoming chapters, and I hope everyone sticks around to continue the adventure of Bucky and Mags. 
> 
> I always love and adore hearing from you. Comments, Kudos, and good energy all welcome and they all feed the plot bunnies. 
> 
> Happy Reading!


	12. A Journey Through The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> TW: for mentioned death.
> 
> Recommended Listening: Dreams by the Cranberries; Sitting in Limbo by Jimmy Clif
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=SKPFUC5HTNCJssyH7BAwEw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! Thank you so much for your continued patience, kindness, comments, Kudos, and general good feeling. Traveling and doing some research at the moment, so the next few chapters will be a little slow forthcoming. As always, Happy Reading!

It was New Year’s Eve, and It had been a few days since she’d fallen asleep during Gone With the Wind. She'd been embarrassed, but Barnes had been kind enough to wake her for the dramatic last line and had made her a cup of coffee before walking her home.

He’d insisted, of course, that he couldn’t_ ‘have you staggering around the Wakandan countryside half asleep in the middle of the night.’_

She’d protested feebly, but ultimately he’d prevailed and had walked her all the way home.

He’d sent her a text when he’d made it back, and that was the last time she’d heard from him. It had been radio silence, and Maggie wasn’t sure if she should be concerned. She hoped he was okay, or at the very least, being kind to himself. She’d thought about reaching out to him today, considering it was the last day of Hanukah and New Year’s Eve.

Maggie had been so close to texting him that she’d typed out the message and had nearly sent it before deleting the damn thing. If he wanted her around, he’d reach out to her.

_Yes, but you want him around. _

Yes. She did. But she’d decided when she’d first come to Wakanda that she was going to let Barnes set the parameters of their relationship, whatever it was, and so she’d refrain from texting or calling him. 

They’d been working on drills again today. She’d tried her best to focus, but all she could think about was being thrown, and what could happen. She’d been around horses all of her life, long enough to know what exactly the worst-case scenario. Jelani had taken notice, and then taken pity, giving her the rest of the day off. She’d decided to go into town to do some shopping and walk through a few of the Royal Wakandan museums. Do anything to distract or get her out of her head.

Maggie adjusted her bag on her shoulder and sighed, trying to ease some of the tension in her chest. Her eyes darted up and down the busy streets.

_Easier said than done._

Coming into town was stressful. It was intimidating, and people starred. Not that she blamed them. She was an outsider, and her Wakandan wasn’t for shit. They were kind enough to correct her pronunciation and likely overcharged her because she couldn’t haggle regardless of what language she was speaking.

Even more than that, Maggie didn’t like crowds, and while she knew Wakanda wasn’t Juarez, there was still that edge of anxiety as she waited for something to go wrong.

She’d been on edge all week, falling off Skywalker had done that to her. Barnes and his shitty day had actually helped distract her from what she was feeling and thinking. Not exactly the best coping mechanism, but it had done in a pinch.

But she knew she couldn’t continue to rely upon Barnes’s various crises to distract her from what her trauma was doing. Which is why she was here in the market, buying odds and ends, and this and that. She’d even purchased herself a journal. Whether or not she’d use it was a different story, but she figured, perhaps in vain, that it was indeed the thought that counted.

On top of day time anxiety, Maggie hadn’t been sleeping well, her mind occupied with well, with everything. Barnes, being thrown from the horse, memories of Juarez, memories of the house fire. It hadn’t been a good time, and now she was looking for a distraction 

“Funny running into you here.”

Maggie whirled around to see none another than James Barnes, a few feet behind her. “Hey.” She forced a quick smile. “It _is_ a funny coincidence. What are you doing here?”

“Brain checkup with the Princess.” He shrugged, “What about you?”

“Oh, you know. Feeling a little stir crazy. Asked Jelani for the day off, I was just doing a little shopping. Then I was going to walk through the Royal Museum, I’ve heard they have an excellent Astronomy and Space exploration exhibit.” She said as lightly as she could manage.

“Sounds like a full day.”

“Yeah. Something like that.” She nodded with a short sigh. “Everything’s good with you, though, right?” Maggie winced internally at the edge in her voice. Was it too eager? Too obvious? I mean, they were talking about his brain here. That wasn't something to be dealt with lightly. 

“Yes. Usual appointment.” He said as if sensing her uncertainty.

“Oh. Usual appointment. That’s good.” She practically stammered.

_What is wrong with you? Why are you acting so weird? _She silently scolded herself.

“Yeah.” Barnes agreed. “How long are you in town?”

“Oh. Well. I’m more or less done with my shopping and was going to head over to the Museum here in a few minutes. How about you?”

“My appointment is in half an hour, but it shouldn’t take to long.”

“Would you like to join me after? It seems like it’s your type of thing.” Maggie rushed like if she didn’t get all the words out, he might turn and leave, and she wouldn’t get another chance.

“My type of thing?” He echoed.

_Shit. Had she overstepped? _Her mind raced as she examined his expression for context clues. Much to her surprise, rather than angry, or reserved, he looked relaxed. His hair was pulled back in half up, half down, and he was wearing a more traditional Wakandan style shirt and pants, with his usual scarf. He was at ease, everything about him was soft lines. “Yeah.” She continued, uncertainly. “You know, science, technology. Nerd Stuff.” She tossed in at the end for good measure.

“Nerd stuff.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You _have _spent too much time around Steve and Becca.”

“I’ve spent a fair bit of time around you too, James Barnes. I can certify that you’re a nerd too.” She smiled again, but this time it came a little bit easier for her.

Barnes nodded, “I can meet you after. You headed over now?”

“Yeah.” She replied.

“It’s in the same building as the laboratory.” There was a hesitance to his expression before he asked. “Do you mind if I walk with you?”

“No. Not at all. I wouldn’t mind the company. Just let me pay for my stuff, and we’ll be on our way.” Maggie said as she removed her wallet from her bag.

Before she could turn to the shop keeper, Barnes had slipped between them and was talking in quick Wakandan, negotiating the price, before he slid the appropriate coinage across the counter.

“Barnes. You didn’t have to do that.” Maggie stammered, collecting her things as they started walking.

“No.” He agreed, nodding. “I didn’t.”

“But?” Maggie led.

At this again, he paused, “I never did say thank you. For helping me the other day.”

“Of course. I meant to ask, how’s your hand and arm?”

“Good. They’re good.”

“I’m glad to hear.”

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” He continued after a moment.

“Do what?”

“Patching me up, yet again.”

“I wasn’t just going to stand there and watch you bleed.”

“I mean,” He began again, haltingly. “I wouldn’t have been able to clean and dress my wound if you hadn’t been there.” He admitted.

_Ah. _Maggie nodded. She knew he was fishing, that he was looking for some sort of reaction. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, never mind what he was expecting her to say. But he did expect some kind of reaction. He’d expected some kind of reaction when they’d been at the falls, and then she was reasonably sure he’d expected her to coddle him when he’d cut himself.

She really didn’t know what he wanted her to say. He hadn’t her given her much to go on if he did. ‘Let him set the parameters of the relationship,’ that’s what she’d told herself, and so if he wanted to talk about it, he’d have to do more than just drop hints.

“You’re resourceful. I have no doubt you would’ve figured something out, James Barnes.” She managed finally.

There was a pause as he looked her over. “You know that you can just call me Bucky if you’d like, doll.”

He tensed as soon as he’d said it, and she couldn’t help but smile. “If I do, will you stop calling me doll?” She laughed. “You can call me Maggie if you like, although it doesn’t have the same ring.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“Come on, Barnes, this is the 21st century!”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Maggie opened her mouth but found that a blush had started to rise on her cheeks. _Women like a man who doesn’t take himself seriously._ Is what she was going to say. And she had no reason why she shouldn’t, but the way Barnes was looking at her, combined with the rising blush, she found that she couldn’t quite form the words.

“Is this about how the nature of women and men has changed since I’ve been out of the world?” he asked, raising a playfully skeptical eyebrow.

“No.” She shook her head. “No. I was simply going to say don’t take yourself too seriously.”

“Uh, huh.”

“What?”

“You weren’t actually going to say that, were you?”

Was the lie that obvious? She couldn’t quite tell, but now she had to either lie some more or find a way to say what she was going to say. “No," Maggie said slowly. “I was, frankly, getting ready to be quite heteronormative, and I was a little embarrassed at myself.”

“Ah," he answered shortly. “Well, now I’m curious.”

She took a deep breath but was cut off before she could answer. “You don’t have to say it, if you don’t want to, Ramirez.”

Maggie glanced up at him, there was a faint hint of a satisfied smile on his face. Not that he was mocking her per-say, but that he was thoroughly enjoying this entire exchange, which by all accounts, was a good thing. “Don’t you mean doll?”

“Would you prefer that over Ramirez?”

“As I said, Maggie is perfectly fine.”

“All right, all right. _Maggie._” He said, pronouncing her name first name with care, as if afraid if it was mishandled, it might break.

Much to her embarrassment, her stomach fluttered. She chewed on the corner of her mouth, trying to clamp the feeling down, she charged on, “It’s the 21st century Barnes, women like a man who doesn’t take himself too seriously.”

A thoughtful expression crossed over his face, and he nodded. “Not the _most_ heteronormative thing I’ve ever heard.” He chuckled. “Does it apply to men as well? Do men like men who don’t take themselves too seriously? Or women for that matter?”

Maggie exhaled slightly, adjusting her bag again. “Well, as far as men liking men is concerned, you’d have to ask Steve or Sam about all of that.”

“It _is_ good to know how men and women fit into the equation in this _modern _world of yours.” He said with not too much sarcasm.

“Modern world of _mine_?” She echoed. “I don’t think I can take _that _much credit for things.”

“Well, you _are_ a millennial.”

“Oh. Getting into some generational warfare are we, Bucky Barnes?” She raised an eyebrow. “And how, dare I ask, are we doing, seeing as you’re the poster boy of The Greatest Generation.”

“Me?” Bucky snorted, shaking his head. “You’re talking to the wrong person.” He paused as they reached the lobby of the massive Royal Laboratory, stopping outside the doors. He glanced around before leveling his watchful gaze. “But I think if you were to ask Steve. I think he’d say that you kids are doing all right.”

“But I didn’t ask Steve, did I?” Now she knew she was being coy, but she wanted to hear what he had to say. Particularly as a representative of the so-called “greatest generation.”

“No.” He agreed. “But unfortunately, I have an appointment to get to.”

“Right. You do.” She nodded, doing her best to quell her disappointment, but he wasn’t wrong, he did have his appointment to get to. “Meet you down here in an hour?”

“Sure. I’ll see you then!”

“Good luck!”

Bucky paused, surveying her, an odd expression passing only momentarily over his face. “Thanks. You too.”

Maggie watched as he walked to the lift that would take him to the laboratory. _You can call me Bucky if you’d like, doll._

She couldn’t help but smile as she glanced down at the fabric he’d bought for her. She’d have to make him something out of the scraps if there was anything left after she made a dress for herself.

What the afternoon held in store for her, for them, she didn’t know, but she was glad. Glad he was here, glad that she wasn’t alone, that she and _Bucky_ were together, here, now.

-

It had been a strange day already, and Bucky felt slightly lightheaded as he entered the laboratory where the Princess was waiting for him.

“Hey, White boy! Right on time.” She called playfully. “You know the drill, up on the table.” They moved in silent unison in their familiar routine.

The Princess started the scan as usual, and he could feel his mind raced. It had been a surprise running into Ramirez...Maggie. He hadn’t seen her since they’d watched ‘Gone With the Wind.’ He’d wanted to reach out, wanted to ask her over for dinner again. He’d perfected his latke recipe in the meantime, and he owed her dinner. A real dinner, one that didn’t involve her patching him up.

When he’d seen her today, in the market, she’d looked...well upset wasn’t quite the right word for it, but there was an edge to her. But she had laughed and smiled at him and had seemed perfectly cordial. _Seemed_, of course, being the operative word. What had happened since the last time they’d seen each other? Had he done something to upset her? He hadn't _seen_ her how could he have upset her?

She _had_ invited him to go to the museum with him. She’d been under no obligation to do that. So it was logical that she _wanted_ him around. Right?

“So any plans for tonight?”

“Pardon?” He stammered, glancing up at her through the holographic displays as she worked.

“It’s the News Years and I believe the last day of Hanukkah for you. Any big plans?”

“Oh. Magg-Ramirez and I are going to the Wakandan Royal Museum this afternoon.” Bucky answered truthfully. Silently kicking himself for tripping up and almost using her first name, which would likely lead to merciless teasing from the princess.

“Again?” The Princess asked.

“Yes. _Again._” Bucky winced. He hadn’t mentioned it to Maggie, but he’d first been to the museum shortly after he’d been pulled from cryo. He’d sort of wandered into the museum in between the various scans and tests. He’d spent hours going through the museum that first day, and since then, he’d been back two or three times, usually just after his scans.

“I take it Ms. Ramirez doesn’t know?” The Princess commented a knowing tone in her voice.

“She didn’t ask.”

“Did you invite her, or did she invite you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, certainly, it would determine whether or not it’s a date.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “No. It’s not a date.”

“So. She asked you.” The princess practically giggled. “It’s good. You two spending time together. Social interaction, it’s good for you. What does she like?”

“What do you mean?”

“It means what it means, what does she like? What are you two going to see in our museum today?”

Bucky had to stop himself from sighing. Of course. Of course, the princess was going to get involved. _I shouldn’t have mentioned anything._ But there wasn’t any shame in it, in them spending time together. He enjoyed her company. So he trudged on. “I think she wanted to see the Astronomy and Space exploration exhibits.”

“You’ll have to take her into the planetarium.”

Bucky paused, thinking back to that time that he’d found her in the field. She’d talked about being unable to sleep and wanting to stargaze. “Yeah. I think she’d like that.” He hesitated, licking his lips. “Does the planetarium...does it have a set...program?” He asked slowly.

“No. Why?” She leaned into his field of vision just enough to where he could see her forehead and eyes.

Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes, bobbing his head in a conciliatory gesture. “She mentioned that she liked stargazing.” He said shortly, leaving out how he’d gathered that information.

In his defense, that had been purely accidental and hadn’t happened again. Although he would be a liar if he didn’t admit, at least to himself, that the thought had occurred to him to walk over one of his many sleepless nights to see if he’d find her out there again.

A huge grin spread over The Princess’s face.

“Why do I feel like I’ve missed something?” He asked uncertainly.

“Not at all. I’ll have to give you the override code, so Ms. Ramirez can stargaze wherever her heart desires,” She said, her hands manipulating the holographic readout. “Your brain looks good, White boy. I’ll have you out of here in a moment so you can get to your date with Magdalene.”

_Not a date. _He would’ve quipped back, but he knew that she was playing the role of the younger sibling _spectacularly, _and any response on his part would only provide fuel to that particular fire.

Instead, he just listened as she started humming something that vaguely resembled a Disney song.

The princess finished up her work, gave him the override, and sent him on his way. His mind was still spinning. He was still concerned about here, and now The Princess had put it into his head that what they were doing was considered a “date.” They were acquaintances, friends, if even. It wasn’t a date, they were just spending time together doing something they both enjoyed. _Oh, shi-_

“Hey, Bucky!” Ramirez’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and he found her sitting on a bench outside the main entrance to the museum waving him over, the museum map spread across her lap.

“You didn’t wait on me, did you?” He asked as he approached.

“Oh. No. I went through most of the history wing. I figured I’d come out here and wait for you, so you didn’t have to track me down.” She said, standing up and adjusting the strap to her bag. “Good appointment?”

“Yeah. Everything looks good.”

“Wrinkly and fatty?” She inquired with a quick smile.

“So far as I’m aware.”

“Good good. So, where do you wanna start?”

“Pardon?”

“Well, as you’re the science nerd between the two of us.”

“Thanks for that,” He snorted.

“Come on, Barnes. You spent your last night stateside at a science expo. That’s absolutely prime nerd activity.”

“Okay, yes, what’s your point? Other than making fun of me.”

“I’m _not_ making fun. I’m just curious. What bit’s your favorite? So I know where we should start in the science and technology wing. So come on science nerd, what’s your favorite?” She laughed.

“Technological innovations and engineering.” He said shortly.

“Awesome. Sounds good. It’s right near the front of that wing anyway.” Ram-Maggie said. “Shall we?”

“After you.”

They walked side by side through a few of the exhibits before she spoke again. “So why technology and engineering?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what sparks your interest?”

“Oh. Umm. I mean. What isn’t interesting about computers, flying cars, electric machines to wash and dry your clothes for you or do the dishes? I always wanted to figure out how they worked and how such technology could make our lives better.”

He winced as he heard the sickening sincerity in his voice. He believed it, and he meant it, it just sounded so very naive, and he braced himself, waiting for her to laugh at him.

Instead, she just nodded thoughtfully, “That makes sense to me."

“It does?” His disbelief was palpable.

“Well, sure. Better living through technology. Certainly, a product of the era you were born and raised. In the same way that I came of age where we were all fairly convinced that technology was going to destroy us all.”

_You’re welcome for that._ He would’ve said had he felt up to it. It had been rattling around in his brain since she’d asked how he’d thought her generation was doing as the “poster boy” for the greatest generation. If he was the “poster boy” for the Greatest Generation, then it was a pretty damning indictment of what his generation has accomplished. After all, he’d shaped the century, as Pierce had so often remarked. He’d murdered, infiltrated, assassinated, and sabotaged to create the conditions for the Cold War, it’s proxy wars, and much much more.

“You all right there, Barnes?” Ramirez asked.

“Yeah. Got lost in my head a bit.” He managed, lamely. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You enjoy walking around museums all day. I’d say that qualifies you as a bit of a nerd.”

“Oh. No. Absolutely. Although, I’m far less interested in what could be loosely classified as the ‘hard sciences.’ I enjoy my social sciences and humanities. I like figuring out how people work.”

“Hence your fascination with me?” He commented, perhaps a little more unkindly than he’d intended.

To her credit, she shook her head and snorted. “No, Bucky Barnes, believe it or not, I enjoy your company. You’re not one of my social science projects, and I’m very glad for that."

“Why’s that?”

She looked up at him, her brow wrinkled in confusion. “I’d much rather have you as a friend than a client.”

“Oh.”

Ramirez...Maggie smiled before returning her attention to the next exhibit as they entered the medical technology and innovations wing.

They walked through in silence, reading each of the little cards, which had been conveniently translated into a number of languages. Bucky could feel his heart pounding in his throat as they approached a case of prosthetic limbs. He and the princess had sat and talked multiple times in front of that case. Talked about his options, talked about _all_ that Wakandan technology could do for him, talked about the inevitable. Dread set in as she moved closer to the case, her brows furrowed, and focused on one of the artifacts, an impressive articulating prosthesis from the 18th century, made of steel and vibranium.

_Here we go. She’s going to ask. _He wasn’t entirely quite sure if he wanted her to ask about his prosthesis (and lack thereof) or not, or if it was just the anticipation of her asking was what was putting him entirely on edge.

“Hmm.” She murmured more to herself than the room at large. “Better living through technology.” She muttered before looking back down at the map of the exhibit halls.

No questions came.

_Say something. Why won’t you say something? _

He wanted her to ask, wanted her to say something. It would relieve the pressure, relieve the unknown. The silence grew and swelled and expanded between them until it rose like a buzzing in his ears, crackling with energy until it neared a deafening roar. “You haven’t asked.” He blurted out.

“Asked what?”

What did she mean asked what? Bucky couldn't believe it, how did she not know what he was talking about? But he was the one who wanted answers, and so he pressed onward. “Why the Wakandans haven’t given me a new one.” He said, hoping to clarify things a bit.

“Oh.” She said shortly, as she turned to face him. “No. I guess I haven’t.” There was a hesitance in her voice before she continued. “I figured you had your reasons, but that it really wasn’t any of my business.”

“But you must be curious.” He continued as they moved to the next display. “After everything you’ve seen and heard, and read...well?” Bucky felt stupid as he spoke, but he needed to know.

“Well. I guess I should say this upfront." She picking out her words deliberately. "I’m not ignoring your disability. I’m trying to give you the space and dignity of deciding when and how you want or need accommodation, or when and how you want to talk about...well, everything. You don’t need me, or anyone else for that matter ogling or asking invasive and tremendously personal questions just because you’re very clearly missing a limb.”

“So, you do have questions.”

“Well. Yes.”

_But you’re going to let me talk about it when I wanna talk about it. _

It only made sense, considering her background. “I forget you’re a therapist.”

“Well, these days, I’m mostly a beautiful dame. I do my best to keep my therapist voice out of it. It’s not what you signed up for.”

No. It wasn’t. But it still surprised him. How she approached things. How she was doing her best to not ogle or make him uncomfortable. “So, what do you want to know?” He was going to push her. Just a bit. Not because he could, but because he wanted to know what she thought, what she thought of all of it. After all, she had spent two years doing research on him.

“What do you want to share with me?”

Yet again, she was going to let him guide the discussion. He’d just assumed she had a laundry list of questions. Bucky paused, licking his lips.

What did he want to share?

“You were right about nearly all of it. You knew more than I certainly ever did while I was with Hydra.” He admitted slowly. “You asked me about feeling in the prosthesis. Back on your ranch.”

“Yeah.” She nodded, urging him on.

“It wasn’t sensation, per-say. It was more like _knowing _where it was, what it was doing, how much pressure was being exerted, size shape, weight, rather than texture or temperature.”

Ramirez...Maggie nodded. “How’d my repair hold up?”

“They did good.” _Up until the moment stark blew the arm off. _He didn’t say it. “The stab wound healed up nicely as well. No infection or problems.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.” She hesitated.

_Ahh, okay, here it comes. _

“How are your pain levels now that you aren’t dragging that _thing_ around?” She practically spat.

The anger and bitterness she said it with him took him aback. She knew what they’d done to him, she’d seen it in Hydra’s files. He knew that she knew, and now knowing what he knew about her, it shouldn’t surprise him that she’d be angry about _that_ particular detail of his medical history. And yet the vitriol she’d compressed into a single syllable was shocking.

_Of all the things to ask, all the personal, probing questions, she asks about my pain level. _It was

“Better. Much better.” He answered, honestly. “Whatever they did to me gave me back and shoulder problems, but now that the weight isn’t there anymore, it hurts far less.”

She winced, but nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good. That’s really all that matters.”

Bucky hesitated, “you didn’t tell Steve or Romanoff about what you found, did you? Medically I mean.”

“I didn’t. It felt invasive and not at all related to trying to find you. I wrote out what I knew so you’d know, but I figured you’d tell Steve, Nat, or whoever what you wanted them to know when you had a chance to make that decision for yourself.” She paused, glancing up at him. “Plus, between you and me, Steve was looking like a kicked puppy as it was. I didn’t want to personally contribute to any of that.”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah, _that_ makes sense.”

“Why? What happened?” She asked, her eyes searching his expression.

“He uhhh, had some particular prosthesis related questions, shortly after it was blown off by Stark,” He admitted, feeling as if he was snitching on the other man. Still, she’d asked a completely fair and honest question, and so he’d give her an equally straightforward answer.

“Oh. Sorry. I guess I should’ve given him the talk.” Ramirez admitted sheepishly.

“The talk?” He echoed.

“Yeah, The talk. That it’s generally not polite to ask how you lost it, did it hurt, and are you getting another one. It’s a lot like asking veterans if they’d killed anyone.”

“Yeah. _That’s _a stupid question.”

“Yeah, it is.” She nodded, trailing off as she glanced back toward the case. “Better living through technology.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “I saw some of what they did to you, and I can only imagine the type of pain you were in hauling that horrible piece of tech around with you. After all that, I imagine you have a variety of reasons to not _want_ a prosthesis.” Ram-Maggie glanced up at him. “But it’s none of my business to ask, nor are you obligated, required, or expected to give me, Steve, or anyone else your reasoning. In the same way that you’re not obligated, required, or expected to explain why you might want one again. But, as I said before, I’m not ignoring your disability. I _am _aware you’re missing a limb and that it wasn’t a particularly pleasant situation for you _either_ time. I just want to give you the dignity of choice.”

_Choice._ He could feel a lump form in his throat at the very idea. _Choice. _“Thank you...Thank you, Maggie.” He managed after a moment.

_For what? _She was going to say.

“It really is you I should be thanking, Bucky Barnes.”

“For what?” He spluttered before he could stop himself.

“You’ve been incredibly gracious and forgiving when you really have no reason to be as far as how much information I have on you rattling around in my head. Never mind in relation to what I did, or a didn’t share with your various significant others.”

He hesitated. Had he been gracious and forgiving? He’d sort of resigned himself to the fact that there were people out there who knew more about him and what had happened to him than he did. The fact that Ramirez...Maggie had been conscientious about how his information had been collected, stored, and disseminated had been surprising, and he hadn’t given it much thought this way or that.

“You did the best you could in a shitty situation and were very thoughtful in how you tried to regulate and protect my information. That’s really all I could ask.”

She nodded shyly. “I do my best.”

But her best, Bucky couldn’t help but observe, was far and away better than any of them would’ve managed. She’d carried all that information around in her head and hadn’t told anyone else. Furthermore, she’d handed over all that information the moment they’d come into proximity and had given him complete and total control of the ways that they discussed that information. He wasn’t sure he could exercise the same amount of self-control, or that he was deserving of such a display of kind thoughtfulness after everything that had happened to her because of him.

“Are we ready to go to the next exhibit?” She asked brightly.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Can I see the map?”

“Sure.” She said, their fingertips brushing as she passed it to him.

They made eye contact a moment, and Maggie cracked a small smile, the tips of her ears going pink. “Thanks,” He mumbled as he broke her gaze and looked down at the paper map. It was all a show, of course, he knew what he was looking for, but he couldn't tell her that.

“No problem.” She cleared her throat. “So what are you thinking? I’m open to anything, now that we’ve gotten through most of the Wakandan technology and engineering.” She commented as she craned her neck to look over his shoulder at the map.

“The Princess mentioned a planetarium," Bucky answered his eyes, scanning the now very crumpled paper.

“Oh. Yeah. I was looking for that.” She said brightly.

“Would you like to go there next?” He glanced up at her. 

“Yeah. Sure. I mean. I mean, if you want.” Maggie stammered.

“Then let’s go.” He mentioned with his head.

“Okay.” She nodded, “I follow your lead.”

“That could be dangerous.” He commented wryly as they started the winding path through the museum. “I could step on your toes.”

Maggie chuckled. “Well, luckily for you, I’m wearing boots.”

“Well, with any luck, that won’t be necessary.” He commented as they came to the planetarium. Grabbing the door, he held it open for her and filed in after. Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he watched her closely as they entered the darkened space, her face tilting upward, expression transforming in wonder.

She sighed, almost wistfully, releasing the tension in her shoulders.

It was a remarkable change. Watching as she walked into the center of the room, Bucky couldn't help but notice the smile that spread across her face. “We can change the coordinates if you’d like.” He said in low tones after a moment, almost sad to break the silence and draw her attention away from the display above.

Her head snapped to where he was standing, eyes wide. “Really? I mean, you think they’d let us?”

“The Princess gave me the access code to the controls. So I’m pretty sure.” He said.

"I mean. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Bucky shook his head.

Without further prompting, she bounded over to the controls, turning to watch as he trailed behind. He typed in the authorization and stepped aside so she could type in the new coordinates. Glancing up, he watched as the stars shifted, before watching as she drifted to the center of the room, her neck craned, looking up.

Standing there a moment, she sunk to the floor, a grin spread across her lips and her pure delight filling every inch of her face. “Join me?” She asked, turning her head only momentarily to meet his gaze.

“Sure.” He replied, walking over to where she was sitting and sat down to her left, and watched as she leaned back on the floor, her face illuminated in the dim light of the display.

“Do you know them?” He asked, watching as she gazed upward.

“Some.” She answered, eyes scanning the fake night sky. “There.” She pointed. “That’s Ursa Major.”

Bucky followed where she was pointing. “I don’t see it.” He said, squinting.

“You’re going to have to layback to see where I’m pointing.”

He looked down at her, his brain working to come up with some sort of witty comeback, but faltered at the earnest expression on her face. “Alright,” Bucky said, as he lay down on the floor beside her, shoulder to shoulder. “Show me.”

“There.” She motioned with her pointer finger. “That cluster of stars. That’s the Ursa Major.”

“Uh, Huh.” Bucky nodded.

“And then there is Leo Minor and Leo major.” She made a motion with her pointer finger.

“Right.”

Maggie glanced over at him, “You still have no idea what I’m talking about.” It was an absolute statement of fact.

“Correct.”

“You mean to tell me that you’ve never star gazed, James Barnes?” She asked, total disbelief in her voice.

“Can’t say that I have.” He paused.

_Liar. _

He’d star gazed with Steve when they were out in the field with the howling commandos, too wired to sleep. So they’d just held hands and watched the night sky, ears trained for the enemy. Then there had also been a few times he could remember, when he was the Soldier, looking up at the sky on clear moonless nights with Nat while on a mission, where they’d been taken, if only momentarily, by the beauty of the night sky. It had been a very long time since he’d just looked up at the sky just to look up.

“I know the North Star. But that was mostly for navigation, in the era before GPS and satellites.”

She gave a small nod, “Give me your hand. ” She said so softly that Bucky was almost sure that he’d imagined it.

“What?” He stammered.

“I wanna show you.” Maggie motioned with her chin up toward the ceiling.

“All right.” He extended his hand to her.

Gently she wrapped her thumb, middle, ring, and pinky finger around his right wrist, doing her best to align her pointer finger with his, “All right, bear with me a moment.” She said, adjusting her position where she was pressed flush against him. “Comfortable?” She looked over at him with a small smile.

“As much as anyone can be laying on the ground.” He answered with a wry smile.

“Okay. Well. Let me show you.” She chuckled, the noise was small but hummed in her chest, and the vibrations spread into his own.

Clearing her throat, she began, using their pointer fingers like a sight and very carefully traced each constellation in the hemisphere, only pausing to ask if he could see it, or if he had questions. Bucky could, of course, see each of the constellations, but he found he was far more interested in how her face seemed to positively glow as she spoke in the dim light talking about what each star formation was, and what time of the year they could be best seen.

“What?”

“Huh?” He stammered, her voice pulling him back.

“You’re starring. Where did I lose you?” She asked.

“Oh. No. You didn’t.” He shook his head. “It’s just.” He faltered.

“What?”

“How do you know all this stuff?”

“Oh.” She breathed as if relived that was his question. “West Texas is nothing but flat and dry, which means a lot of open sky. That and my family used to go out to the McDonald’s observatory in the Davis Mountains when I was little. My brother loved it. He’d drag me out of bed in the early hours of dawn to watch meteor showers.”

“Your brother Antonio.”

“Yeah, Toni.” She nodded. “Before Toni died, we used to go camping for two weeks every Christmas break and just sit out under the stars by the fire. Toni knew all the constellations and where the planets were depending on the time of year.” Ramirez shook her head. “God, it’s been forever since I’ve thought about those camping trips.”

Her brother, during his research, Bucky, had read that he’d died when she was ten. He’d never figured out what had happened, but he could imagine it had been traumatic. Bucky could tell just by the way she talked about him the admiration and love that she still felt for him, all these years later. Was that how Becca had talked about him? “What happened to him?” The question slipped out before he could stop it, and he winced.

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” She said slowly. “He was killed in a freak accident. Trying to break a horse,” She said. It was all fact, not a hint of emotion in her voice. “He was seventeen and my hero, I guess in the way big brothers normally are. Now that I think back on it, he never should’ve been allowed to get up on that horse, but my dad and granddad thought he was ready and so they let him. I was sitting by the fence, watching when it happened. The horse threw him, and when he hit the ground...” Maggie winced, shaking her head. “I knew immediately what had happened. I tried to get into the enclosure, but my Aunt Gloria dragged me into the house. They were trying to protect me. They didn’t want me to see the body. But I just remember screaming Toni’s name.” She paused, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. “The other day, when I was thrown, it brought what happened to Toni back. After that happened to him, I didn't‏ go near horses or any of it for years.” She chuckled weakly. “So. Uhh. I can positively say that neither of us was having a good day the other day.”

“Yeah. I think that’s an accurate summary.” Bucky nodded, silently astounded.

_She trusts me._ He realized. She trusted him not only to not hurt her as they lay here in the dark but also enough to tell him something that had obviously been and was still in many ways very painful for her. 

Bucky paused glancing down, he found that she was still holding onto his wrist. She didn’t have a tight grip, he could’ve easily pulled away. What surprised him was that he didn’t mind and was actually savoring the contact between them. Her hand was calloused, but her grip was gentle. Did she realize she was still holding onto his wrist? Or had his question taken her far beyond the fake night sky.

“I think we should do a re-do.”

“Re-do?” She echoed.

“Well, you said it yourself. Neither of us was having a good day last time we had dinner and a movie. Tonight is the last night of Hanukkah, and by my count, New Year's Eve. If you don’t have any other plans, I’d like to make dinner for you.”

Maggie turned her head to him, cracking a small, nearly fragile smile. “I’d like that, Bucky.”

Bucky looked back up at the ceiling, and at the starry scene swirling over him. A year ago, he’d been in Romania, hauling cinderblocks up the stairs. A year ago, he’d discovered she was alive when he’d seen her in the photograph in his youngest sister’s obituary. A year ago, he was on the run, alone, and in pain, and had been content to be so. He’d had no idea what awaited him, or what he was going to endure. In a thousand years, he never would’ve imagined he would be laying side by side with the woman whose life he’d so completely and utterly ruined, stargazing and talking about having dinner.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was inappropriate and stupid, and she’d probably roll her eyes at him, but it was to good an opportunity to pass up. “Well then,” He said slowly, turning his head to meet her gaze. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

Sure enough, she rolled her eyes, pulling her hand away to brush hair out of her face, but her smile widened as she shook her head. “You’re a cheeseball, Barnes.” Maggie chuckled as she pushed herself into a seated position. “But thank you.”

“For being a cheeseball?” He raised an eyebrow as he sat up beside her.

“Getting the access codes from The Princess. Listening to me ramble on about my childhood, my dead brother, and the stars.” She replied.

Bucky paused. “For being a friend?” He offered after a moment.

“Yeah. For being my friend.” She agreed. “Now come on. We have the rest of the museum to see, and items for dinner to acquire.” She rose to her feet and extended her hand to him.

He took it, and she helped him to his feet. They changed the coordinates back and left the planetarium in silence. Following her blinking out into the comparatively bright light of the museum, Bucky trailed behind her as she led them from room to room, chatting excitedly about each of the exhibits.

If this was a sign of things to come, and Bucky hoped they were, 2017 was going to be a much better year than 2016. T_hat_ was something to celebrate, and he was going to celebrate it with a friend. He was going to celebrate with her.


	13. Bad Dreams and Worse Realities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> OKAY Y'ALL. Massive trigger warning: graphic violence, death, blood, murder, gun violence, dream sequence, PTSD, Anxiety, depression, self-isolation
> 
> Recommended Listening: The Manic by Amarante; Hallelujah by Rufus Wainwright
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=AleDREVDTmmvT7BDWiCDzQ

_He couldn_ _’t hear the words, but he knew they were those words. He could feel himself being pushed away and being replaced by something else, by the soldier. He tried to hold on, tried to fight it. “Your name is James Barnes. Your father’s name is George. Your mother’s name...your mother’s name is...” The information was there, but it was blocked, shoved away, useless, obsolete._

_“_ _Soldier?”_

_“_ _Ready to comply.” He heard himself say the words, but it felt far away and warbled like he was underwater, trapped, drowning._

_He was in the house again, Maggie_ _’s house. They were alone. Her dark eyes were wide with terror, an unfamiliar, foreign expression on her usually calm features. “Bucky...Bucky, this isn’t you.” She said, her voice shaking, her hands out as she backed away from him. It was a feeble attempt at self-defense, certainly no match for the soldier…for the asset._

_He raised his gun. _ _‘Run! Run!’ He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. _

_It wouldn’t have helped. Maggie didn_ _’t have time to react. No time to scream, no time to run, no time to plead or beg as he unloaded the magazine into her chest and as she crumpled to the floor, blood pooling around her. Her shaking hands moved to the bullet wounds, which blossomed like bright flowers, and attempted to staunch the bleeding. But it would be no use, not against the solider, not when there were so many of them._

_He...the soldier...stepped forward, placing his boot on her chest, forcing her all the way to the floor._

_ Maggie put her blood-stained hands on the boot and pushed ineffectually against it, too weak to put up much of a fight. Bucky wanted to look away, wanted to stop, but he couldn_ _’t. He watched, unable to stop the horror of what happening. _

_ Her eyes stared up at him, there wasn_ _’t anger or even fear in her eyes, but an overwhelming sadness. Then, just as he raised his gun, he found that he could move again. _

_"Maggie.” His voice was his own now, but nearly drowned out by the thudding of his pulse in his ears.“Maggie. Oh God. Maggie, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He fell to his knees beside her, scooping up her in his arms, trying to stem the bleeding, but there was blood everywhere, there was no way to stop it. _

_“_ _It’s okay, Bucky,” She said, her hands slick with blood pushed his hand away.“It’s okay, let me go. It’s okay.”_

_“_ _Maggie. No. No. Please.” He begged, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. He cradled her head, watching helplessly as she slipped away, only vaguely aware of the tears streaming down his face._

_“_ _You killed her, Barnes.” _

_He looked up to see Wilson walking toward him. _ _“After all she did for you.”_

_"Wilson...I....” Words failed him as the shadow of Steve loomed over them. “Steve...I...I tried to stop...” Bucky looked up into the face of his friend and found anger on Steve’s face._

_“_ _You said you weren’t going to kill anyone.”_

_“_ _I didn’t mean—I couldn’t.”_

_“_ _Who am I talking to? My friend? Or the Winter Soldier?” Steve stepped closer, “You did this! You killed her!”_

_“_ _You killed her," Wilson repeated._

_He looked down into Maggie’_ _s face_ _ as their voices echoed and bounced around the room, and mixed with the screams of all of the Winter Soldier’s victims. His victims. _

_‘No. It wasn_ _’t me. I didn’t want to.’ He would’ve screamed, but no one would listen, and he didn’t deserve their pity, their justice, their forgiveness._

_ No._

_ No. _

_No._

Bucky jolted awake, drenched in sweat, breathing heavy. His whole body shaking.

“You’re in Wakanda, You’re safe, they can’t touch you. You’re safe. Maggie’s safe. Steve and Wilson, and Natasha, they’re safe. Hydra can’t make you them kill. Hydra can’t make you hurt anyone. Hydra can’t hurt you anymore.” He breathed, trying to ground himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut as the hut’s walls started to spin. He could hear their screams, their pleading. He could see their faces reaching out to him from the darkness behind his eyes. He clenched his jaw as his chest constricted.

He sucked in a breath, but the air was warm and stale as the walls moved closer in around him.

Coughing, he staggered to his feet and lurched outside into the night.

_I couldn’t stop it. I was there, I was in there, and I couldn’t stop it. _He could feel his whole body shaking.

He’d killed her, he’d killed her, and he hadn’t been able to stop it. 

“The Princess got the programming out, she got it out, she got it all out, they can’t touch you.” He whispered over and over.

_But what if she hadn’t. What if she hadn’t, and they come for you. They’ll come for you and trigger you again, they’ll make you kill her and Steve and Sam and T’Challa and The Princess and anyone and everyone who might stand in their way, and you won’t be able to stop it._

Bucky could feel himself shaking as his thoughts raced. Both his body and his mind were working against him. He needed to move, needed to get out of his head.

He started walking. He walked and walked, not really minding where he was going, letting his feet guide him, his mind still racing.

_It was only a dream._

He repeated that fact, repeated it over and over, hoping that with enough repetition, it might feel like it was _only_ a dream.

It had felt real. For him, it had felt real, too real. Because for 70 years it had been real. That had been his job, his mission, his entire purpose. He’d killed people, a _lot _of people, not just like that but close enough. Too close for comfort.

“Fuck.” He breathed.

He remembered them all, he could see them all, only now Maggie was among them.

That wasn’t new. He’d lived in the belief that he’d killed her for over a year. And when he’d been remembering, recovering everything that he’d lost and forgotten, she’d been amongst the fallen, amongst those killed by Hydra, killed by him.

But then she hadn’t been dead, and in fact, had been trying to hunt him down. And then she’d come to Wakanda and had told him that she didn’t blame him for what had happened. It hadn’t been absolution. It had been understanding.

Only then they’d started talking about his sister, and then spending time with one another, now it had evolved into something else. It had evolved into a friendship. It had become something normal, something constant, something separate from what his life _had _been to something that his life _could _be.

It had been nearly a month and a half since the museum and New Year's Eve, and during that time, they’d been seen a lot more of one another.

They’d zoomed through the next twenty films on the hundred greatest list. Slipping a few films here and there not from the list. Science fiction mostly, but it had been fun for him to see her suggestions and input. Beyond just seeing more of one another, she’d been staying the night on their movie nights. It just made the most sense for her to stay until morning to avoid anyone having to walk in the dark.

Unfortunately, while a lot had been good, with it had come some bad. This dream wasn’t the first time of it’s particular kind. He’d started having them around the same time that she’d started staying over.

At first, the dreams had focused around him frightening or even accidentally harming her. He hadn’t told her. He’d wanted to. But to what end? He’d wondered. Then there had been an escalation...to…well…to this.

How could he have been so stupid? How had he managed to delude himself into thinking that this whole thing wouldn’t come back and bite him in the ass? Was it ignorance, naivety, stupidity, or had he really thought that he could ignore what he was? That he should _let_ her ignore what he was. Ignore the truth. That he was not just dangerous but a danger to her.

Bucky faltered as his brain finally realized where his feet had led him.

“Damn it.” He muttered. He was no more than 100 yards from her front door.

His feet had guided him along to her house, as they had now almost three years ago. Right to her doorstep, to dump his problems on her.

_You’re already here. What’s a little further? _His brain coaxed and he wanted to listen. _She’d want to know about this, she has a right to know._

He wanted to go up and knock on her door. He wanted to wake her, just to know she was okay. If just to hear her voice.

What would he say when he did he wake her? ‘Hi, sorry, had a bad dream about brutally murdering you in your home. You know the one that Hydra burned to the ground after they tortured you for harboring me in your barn and nursing me back to health?’

It wouldn’t be a welcome wake up call.

_It was only a dream._

He clung to the fact. It wasn’t real. The whole thing had been his brain doing stupid shit to him. Yet despite that knowledge, for him, it had felt real, so real. He’d watched her die.

_She would want to know._

Yeah, she would. She’d sit there and listen and nod along with those large dark eyes, and that kind mouth and gentle expression, and she’d tell him what he already knew. It was only a dream. It was just a dream and that it wasn’t anything to worry too terribly much about. Then she’d spread a blanket out for them and would lay beside him until he fell back asleep under the night sky.

That’s what would happen, he knew that and wanted that. In fact, he craved it down to the very fiber of his being.

_No. You can’t do that to her. You know what you have to do. _

Would she see it that way? Would she understand?

_Does it matter?_

Well, of course, it mattered. Despite himself, despite all better judgment, and all good reason, he cared for Maggie, and he cared what she thought, and he didn’t want to _hurt _her.

_Fuck. Damn it. _He took a faltering step toward her house and stopped. _I can’t do this to her, not right now, not at this hour. _He turned and rubbed his face before turning back toward her hut. His resolve wavering moment to moment, breath to breath.

It was Tuesday, or it was going to be. He could do it during his usual feed delivery. He was supposed to see her then anyway. It would be better than waking her up in the middle of the night, and it gave him more time to figure out what he was going to say.

But he wanted to talk to her now. It wouldn’t make everything better. Nothing could make everything feel _better,_ but Bucky had the distinct feeling that Maggie could help him make _sense_ of everything.

He couldn’t do that to her either. That wasn’t her job, it wasn’t her responsibility, and it, in fact, went against everything that he knew he had to do.

Bucky could feel his shoulders sag at the thought, at the idea of being _alone _yet again, but it felt selfish to do any differently. To knowingly and willingly put her in harm’s way just because he was bored or lonely, or whatever.

He turned away from her hut and started the long walk back to his village. It was longer and far more fraught as he argued with himself and stumbled over the rocky terrain he traversed.

He couldn’t get her anymore involved with him than she already was. And he knew he would have to find a way to divest himself from the situation. Remove himself before he hurt her before he hurt all of them.

_Wasn’t this why you went under? Why you let The Princess root around in your brain? So you wouldn’t have to be worried about all of this?_

That was the case. Bucky knew that was the case. That he shouldn’t be worried about this anymore. They’d fixed this problem. He wasn’t Hydra’s tool.

_But that’s untested, we won’t know unless it happens again._ He couldn’t help but fixate on that particular fact.

When he made it back to his hut, he couldn’t bring himself to sit inside. The air still felt hot and sticky in his lungs. Instead, he sunk down on one of the logs outside and worked to rebuild the cooking fire.

The smoke stung his eyes, and he could feel as they watered. He blinked furiously but refused to wipe at his face as his tears started to stream.

_This isn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this._

He wanted to scream, but it had never been fair, hadn’t been fair for a long, long time.

So Bucky sat outside, working the fire into cooking coals, and watched as the sun came up, steeling his resolve for what he knew he had to do.

Then, when it was time, he made and ate breakfast, went and dressed, and started his day.

_This is the right thing to do, she’ll understand._ He repeated to himself, over and over, hoping that if he said it enough, it would be true. That if he repeated it enough, he might even believe it himself.

An almost calm had washed over him, as he guided Sally and the cart along their usual path for the feed delivery. The routine and familiarity were comforting. He was in control of himself. He could do what was necessary to protect his friends. To protect her.

Turning the last corner toward Jelani’s village, Bucky spotted her. Sitting as usual under the large trees, reading one of her books. A trashy paperback romance novel, no doubt. She looked perfectly at ease, content with herself and the world around her, unaware of the walking shit storm about to hit her.

_Maybe I can get in and out of the village without her noticing._

Now he was being a coward. Now he was afraid to face her.

_If you’re going to put her through this, you need to at least have the decency to explain what’s going on._

He walked past their usual meeting spot and toward the storage shed, where he dropped off the usual feed order.

He would do this, it would just be after he finished his work, so he could make a quick break for it after he told her.

“Hey, Bucky!”

_Or Not._

He had to stop himself from wincing as her voice broke the silence, echoing across the yard to greet him.

“Bucky! Wait! We can do that after lunch!”

He could hear her scrabble to her feet and rush to follow him. He stopped, turned, and watched as she approached, confusion wrinkling her brow.

“I can’t stay.” His voice came out low and gruff and harsher than he’d meant and he watched as her steps faltered, her eyes searching him.

“Oh. Okay.” She said voice tinged in uncertainty as if she was testing her weight on a frozen pond. “Well, do you wanna do another movie on our list sometime this week?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She paused, again allowing time to survey him with a careful and thoughtful expression. “What’s going on, Bucky?”

“Nothing. It just...It just isn’t a good idea for us to spend time together.”

“What happened?” She pressed on.

“Nothing _happened.” _He practically choked on the last word as he felt his throat tighten around the syllables.

Maggie nodded quickly, chewing on the corner of her mouth.

She didn’t buy it for a moment, and she was going to call him on it, push him, force him to confess.

“If I’ve done something, you know you can tell me, right?” Her voice was small as she said it. “If-I mean-I know-”

“It wasn’t you.” He cut her off. “It’s...I’m...” He stammered his resolve wavering. “I’m dangerous.” Bucky managed shortly. “I thought I was responsible for your death once. I won’t put you in harm's way again.”

Maggie nodded slowly. “I understand.” She stopped, her expression smoothing a moment, and she cleared her throat. “Before I go any further. I have to say, this is therapist Maggie speaking, not your friend Maggie.”

“Okay.”

“Are you having thoughts of harming yourself or others?”

That, of course, had been her first thought. _Yourself or others. _Not, ‘do you want to hurt me?’ She was trying to decide how to react, trying to figure out how best to respond for his sake, she wasn’t thinking about herself

“No. No.” He shook his head. Bucky took a deep breath. What was he supposed to say? No. He wasn’t thinking of harming himself or others. He was grappling with the reality that he might be forced to harm himself or others. What would she say to that? There was only one way to find out. “I had a dream.” Bucky began slowly. “I had a dream that Hydra triggered me and that they made me kill you.”

It sounded stupid, even as he said it, and Bucky waited for her to laugh at him.

“Oh.” She said. It was a short little sound, with tremendous heft.

She was going to tell him that it was just a dream or that he was being ridiculous. She wouldn’t be wrong, he was being ridiculous, it was only a dream, and yet he wasn’t sure what he would if she told him so. He wasn’t sure what he _wanted_ her to say, only that he wanted her to say something.

“I can understand why that would be upsetting and why you’re shaken.” Maggie continued after a moment. “You’ve been through a lot, you’re still processing, it makes sense since we’ve been around one another with some frequency that your mind would latch on to me while working through what you’re dealing with.”

Bucky stared. _That’s it? That’s all she’s going to say? _It took absolutely everything he had for him to not unhinge his jaw and drop it on the ground. “You’re taking all of this pretty well.” He examined her critically.

“You are talking to the dame who lied to the cops and performed light surgery on the Winter Soldier. My threshold for fucked up is a little bit out of whack.” She laughed weakly.

Bucky knew it wasn’t a joke. What was worse was that Maggie was being honest. And unfortunately, he agreed. Her “threshold for fucked up” was well, frankly that, fucked up. That was the problem, and it seemed like she didn’t realize that it was a problem. Furthermore, Bucky knew he couldn’t let her use that as an excuse or a reason to allow him to endanger her. He wouldn’t.

“So what? You want to continue on like I’m not a health hazard?” He bit out, each syllable hard and sharp and brittle.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away or look hurt. Instead, she just shook her head before glancing up to meet his gaze. “That’s not up to me. That’s something you’re going to have to work out.” She paused. “Have you thought about talking to a therapist?” He froze, uncertain of where this was going or what he could do to stop her on the course she was headed. Unaware of this, Maggie charged on, “someone who isn’t me who can help you talk through some of these things. I mean, I can do it. If you want me to, it would just mean I can’t be your friend. A professional thing, being able to keep myself out of it to help you work through some of this stuff.”

“I understand.” He said, almost automatically, before the meaning, the actual meaning of her words sunk in. “Wait. What? You’d be willing to give up our friendship to be my therapist?”

“If you wanted. Frankly, I’m not sure I’m qualified, but if you asked me to, I would.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. What could he say to that?

“You don’t have to decide right now. But you shouldn’t force yourself muddle through this all alone.”

He nodded.

“Now, I’ll help you offload the feed so you can be on your way.” She said lightly, but there wasn’t a smile on her face or a bright glint in her eyes. A weight had settled on her shoulders and expression, and she moved as if every motion was laborious.

Yet she said nothing, and Bucky was content to work in silence. It was better than trying to find something to say. When they finished, they paused, looking one another over, waiting for the other person to say something, anything.

Maggie broke first. “Well, I’m around if you need anything.” She paused, cringing as she shook her head. “I _really_ don’t like the idea of you being alone.”

_It’s better this way, safer this way. _This was true, of course, but he could already feel the dread pooling in his stomach at the thought of being trapped inside his own head.

_That_ _’s not her problem. It’s yours, and you’ll deal with it._

“I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine.”

She nodded. “All right, I’ll see you around then.”

“I’ll see you around then,” he echoed.

Bucky watched as she walked away, back to where she’d been eating lunch. No tears, no gnashing of teeth, just a simple set of very pointed questions, and an almost numb acceptance.

_You’re doing the right thing. _He repeated to himself over and over.

So why didn’t it feel that way?

Bucky didn’t know, and so instead he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and taking one deep breath in and exhaling one breath out, all the way to the next village, and the next village until he could go back to his hut and collapse into bed.

-

Maggie watched as he went, shock, denial, and then a sort of numbness watching over her.

He’d had a dream that Hydra had forced him to kill her.

She could understand why he wanted to push her away.

Maggie could still remember the dreams she’d had with the Winter Soldier present, the ones where Hydra had tortured her, and he’d stood by and watched. She’d almost told him. She’d wanted to tell him, but she’d hesitated. What good would it have done? To what end and effect? She didn’t know, and so she hadn’t said anything.

Maybe he was right. Perhaps he was dangerous, and distance was the best, but that didn’t feel right, not after everything she’d seen.

He was capable of great violence, but also tremendous kindness and gentleness. Never once in his presence, since she’d come to Wakanda, not even when she’d been patching him up after the whole instance with the goat had she felt like she was in danger.

Maggie sat on the blanket, feeling somehow like she’d done something wrong. Like she should chase him down and say something, tell him he was being a self-loathing moron. That he shouldn’t isolate himself. But that wasn’t her place.

_You basically just got “it’s not you it’s me-ed."_

So she had, and it was his right. She’d said so herself. Friendship was a moment by moment exercise in consent. He had a right to say he didn’t want to see her again, and she had a right to go sit down and cry somewhere.

“Heyi, Cowgirl! Where is White Wolf?” Jelani inquired as he walked by.

“He’s come and gone, had something to take care of, and couldn’t stay for lunch.” She explained, perhaps a little too quickly.

Jelani nodded. “Take the rest of the day. Stretch your legs, take a ride to the western ridge.”

Was it that obvious? That she was upset? She didn’t know, but opened her mouth to protest.

“That wasn’t a suggestion, Cowgirl. Go.”

“Okay, okay.” She said, putting her hands up in surrender.

“Good.”

Maggie rose, collecting her things. She’d go to her hut and grab some stuff. Water, food, treats for Skywalker, and her journal and a few pens. She’d have to take her own advice and do a bit of journaling. She didn’t need all of this in her head, not when she needed her head firmly planted on her shoulders, and her brain solidly between her ears.

_I can’t believe you offered to be his therapist._

It was a bad idea, she knew it was a bad idea, but now it was a bad idea that had been planted in the man’s brain.

_What if he says yes? What if he prefers you as his therapist than as his friend?_

Maggie wasn’t sure if she could handle that. Her only point of consistent social interaction transforming into another business transaction. Perhaps that was all she was to him, maybe that was all she’d ever been to him.

_Well, you’ll soon find out soon enough._

Yet she couldn’t get that look of terror in his eyes. That raw fear, and that near animalistic expression as if her proximity was a threat to him. He might not think twice about completely isolating himself and rejecting both her friendship and her offer to try to help him process some of his shit.

Maggie shook her head, adjusting the saddle straps and double-checking the saddlebag. There literally wasn’t anything she could do. She couldn’t help Barnes if he didn’t want her to. So there was nothing to be gained by sitting around obsessing over the what ifs of the thing.

A good ride would help clear her head. It would certainly give her a good work out, and beyond that, it was something to do that didn’t involve prying eyes and even more prying questions.

Mounting Skywalker, she urged him into a trot and pointed him toward the western ridge and started off to try to make some sense of the muddled world currently transpiring around her.

-

While he’d tried to bend all of his focus around his breathing and walking, by the time Bucky made it back to the village, he felt on the verge of a panic attack.

He’d done everything right, hadn’t he? He’d told her what he was doing and why. He hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn't just all of a sudden served all communications and contact between them.

She hadn’t been upset or hadn’t seemed to be. She’d been, if anything, concerned for him. That made everything worse.

_She offered to forego friendship so she could help you, to help you sort through all this... all this shit._

What did that mean?

Well, it meant what it meant, and what it meant was that he had a decision to make.

_No!_

Bucky shook his head. No. That wasn’t it at all. He’d made his decision, that decision was to get her out of his life. His decision was to protect her, by removing himself so that he didn’t hurt her when inevitably this went sideways.

Yet it had been like she’d completely ignored that part like she’d jumped from ‘I need you out of my life for your protection’ to ‘Therapist or Friend?’

_Damn it, Maggie._

How did she always manage that? How could she possibly be so ignorant that she was still willing to put herself in danger when she _knew, _she KNEW what he was capable of.

It was almost too much for him to bear.

_My threshold for fucked up is a little out of whack._

_No shit. _Bucky would’ve laughed if not for the very truth of the thing. And he froze at the sound of approaching footsteps, near the barn where Bucky was returning Sally and the cart.

“You’re back early., Omondi commented brightly as he entered Bucky’s periphery.

He nodded. The old man was fishing, if word hadn’t already spread from Jelani’s village, it soon would.

“Well, since you’re back, come play a game with me and some of the others. You’ll enjoy it.”

“No, thank you. Perhaps another time.” He answered as politely as he could manage.

“Indeed," Omondi said flatly, giving him a once over he nodded, before returning wordlessly the way he’d come.

_What was that all about?_

If Jelani had said something, if Maggie had said something to Jelani who’d then relayed it on to Omondi, Bucky would’ve expected more of a push, more persistence. Instead, the old man had simply left him alone. Perhaps he was simply curious, and the question had been harmless. At the very least it felt harmless. 

Perhaps she hadn’t said anything, maybe no one other than the two of them knew what had transpired. Maybe, just maybe, he’d actually be left alone.

After he finished his chores, Bucky returned wordlessly to his hut. Flipping open his journal, he started writing as a stream of words flowed from his pen. As all of the foggy thoughts, and feelings, and _words_ sprang forth, practically fully formed and landed on the page. He tried to ignore how his stomach twinged, or how his whole body felt like it was shaking, making his handwriting jittery and erratic.

Bucky knew he wasn’t calm, cool, or collected, and he couldn’t fathom how Maggie had managed to maintain that when they’d been talking. He was scared. He was scared of what he could do, of what he was capable of. But perhaps what was most frightening was that she knew, knew who he was, what he’d done, and didn’t seem to care, didn’t seem to grasp that he was a danger to her.

Steve, Wilson, Natasha, T’Challa, and The Dora, they were all enhanced or highly trained and capable of defending themselves. He wasn’t a threat to them. They could take him down if necessary.

Maggie...Ramirez...she was vulnerable.

He squeezed his aching eyes shut. He could still see her, see her staring up at him, wide but unafraid when he’d...as he’d...he couldn’t even think it.

_It had only been a dream._

But could he risk it?

And what about all of the others for whom that hadn’t been a dream? All the others that had died at the hand of the Winter Soldier. Sure, that had all been coerced action, he hadn’t had a choice, he hadn’t _wanted_ to do any of it. Yet, those people were still dead, regardless of his intention, regardless of anything he might have meant or not meant. It really didn’t matter if he’d _meant_ to do any of it.

Bucky exhaled a strangled sigh. Setting down the pen a moment, he rubbed at his stinging eyes. He wanted to talk to Natasha. She would have something novel and insightful to say. She knew what he was, really knew. She’d been there, in Hydra, when he’d been the Winter Soldier. She’d been able to see him for what he was and give him the answers he needed to hear.

But he couldn’t get ahold of her. Trying to get in touch with Steve would be difficult enough, but it would raise serious alarms if he reached out to Natasha.

Besides, he didn’t want anyone to worry about him, not when they were out in the field. Not when they had so much to concern themselves with without him adding his _shit_ to the pile. No. He’d have to deal with this on his own.

_Exactly like Maggie was worried, you would._

Bucky shook his head, picking up his pen back up. That didn’t matter. None of that mattered. There was no decision to be made, no odds to be weighed, no choices. She didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve being stranded here in Wakanda with him, didn’t deserve having her life destroyed because of him. Didn’t deserve to die because she’d extended the hand of friendship, and like a hopeful, stupid idiot, he’d accepted it without a second thought of his true nature.

Twilight eventually set in around him, signaling the end of yet another day, and Bucky knew he was on his own. And although he might not like it, this was what was best for everyone.

-

Maggie rode and rode, and then when she’d reached the western ridge, sat and journaled for a good hour. It had been a long, long time since she’d written anything for herself, and the words came in long, slow, frustrated, bursts, but as she wrote, she felt less like crying and started feeling more resolved.

Ultimately, she couldn’t do shit. What was worse, perhaps, was that she knew she couldn’t do shit. It was no one's fault. This was something that Bucky was going to have to sort through. Maggie only wished that he wasn’t doing it alone.

Not that she wasn’t the poster child for just absolutely clamming up and refusing to address her own mental health. In fact, Barnes had been an excellent distraction from her own problems for a while now.

Maggie sighed, looking up at the long horizon stretched out before her. It was a vast sea of green as far as the eye could see. The grass was so green it almost shone blue under the sunlight, and looking over the fast empty openness, Maggie couldn’t help but feel small. Small and alone and insignificant. She felt like a feather being tossed around in a hurricane. Fragile and helpless, and at the mercy of forces beyond her control.

She took a deep breath, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to relieve some of the pressure that had started to build behind them.

“Put on your own oxygen mask before helping others.” She murmured to the empty grassland before her, repeating it over and over like a mantra.

That was the first rule of being a therapist, being a first responder, activist, whatever. You’re no good to anyone if you’re out of sorts yourself. It was advice that she’d given a hundred times over to her volunteers, and had received a thousand times over from Sam.

_What would that even look like in this situation? How am I supposed to put on my own oxygen mask before helping others?_

Well, she’d put the ball in Barnes’s court. She hadn’t washed her hands of him, but she also hadn’t immediately jumped into therapist mode, determined to fix his problems, or at the very least determined to make him process his trauma and start to help him address that trauma. She’d told him to decide what he wanted and what he wanted to do but had left it open to him whether or not to pursue any of those options.

_But you know he’s just going isolate himself, right?_

Of course, she knew that. Just by the way he’d reacted after his nightmare. He was going to push people away. It was a typical reaction to trauma. Self-isolation. Many thought it was easier to go it alone than drag other people along for the ride.

Maggie could certainly understand that. She didn’t condone it but knew it would’ve been absolutely hypocritical if she hadn’t admitted, at least to her self, that she understood where he was coming from.

_Okay. So. I should tell someone about this. I should seek out advice. Or at very least get someone who ISN’T me to talk to Barnes._

But who? The Wakandans? She wasn’t entirely sure of the relationship there. Willing to remove Hydra programming? Yes. Willing to provide counseling? Currently unknown. Besides, she wasn’t the one to be asking these questions for Barnes. This was his deal, and he’d have to find his way through it, and right now, it looked like he didn’t want her involved in that, for a variety of reasons.

Should she try to get ahold of Steve? What would she even say to Rogers? _Hey! Your friend had an apparently rather graphic dream where he brutally murdered me, and now he won’t talk to me, will you check in on him?_ Because _THAT_ would go over real well. Not only would it freak out Steve, and possibly endanger the Secret Avengers (or whatever the hell they were calling themselves), it would totally betray Bucky’s trust.

_Bucky’s trust? _

At this point, that really shouldn’t matter, should it? He was in crisis, she was a therapist, the next course of action was to reach out to the appropriate points of contact in his support network.

_With or without his consent? He_ _’s not suicidal, Mags. He had a bad dream, and it freaked him out. He needed a friend, whether he knows it or not, he doesn’t need to be institutionalized._

“The fuck am I supposed to do then?”

That really was the question then, wasn’t it? The sun had started to set, as Maggie made her way back to the village, puzzling through her predicament the entire way.

Maggie had just nearly reached a solution by the time she’d reached the halfway mark and had the workings of a basic plan by the time that she’d arrived back to the village. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was better than just sitting around with her thumb up her ass, hoping things worked out for the best.

Her mind was racing. There was a risk involved. Risk that her message wouldn’t be well received. That this whole thing could backfire and that everyone involved would either A) hate her, or B) laugh her off as being a reactionary. Regardless, she couldn’t let this just lie. Now, she’d just have to wait for the right moment to ask a favor.

“Heyi, Cowgirl!” Jelani’s voice made her jump, and she looked up to see the man approaching as she tied off Skywalker and started to remove the horse’s tack so she could do a thorough brush down. “Good ride?”

“Yeah.” She nodded.

“Good.”

“Jelani?” Maggie began.

The older man stopped and turned to face her, curiosity dancing on his expression. “Yes?”

“Is there...” She faltered, uncertain if she should continue. _If you don’t do it now, you might never get another chance until it’s too late._ “Is there any way I could get a message to my friend, Samuel Wilson? Like I did in December?”

The older man frowned, nodding thoughtfully before he spoke. “I don’t know if our King has kept in constant contact with the Captain, and your friend Samuel, but I will see what can be done. Record your message on one of your Kimoyo beads, and I will get it to the appropriate people.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it tremendously.” Maggie smiled weakly.

“Is all well with you and theWhite Wolf?” Jelani inquired, looking her up and down.

“Yes. We’re all well.” She lied. “A little homesick and I miss my friend, I wanted to send him a message.”

Her voice felt pinched and manic, but it was the best she could come up with on the spot.

“Uh, huh.” He nodded voice skeptical as he scratched his chin, combing his fingers through his short beard. “I will get the message to my King.”

“Thank you.”

“I will leave you to it, you will take dinner with me and my family, will you not?”

“I would be honored.”

“Good. Teela had some things for you. I think she wanted to give you a loom.”

“A loom?”

“You mentioned wanting to know how Wakandan fabric was manufactured.”

“Ah.” Maggie chuckled, nodding. “Yes. I will join you and your family for dinner. I look forward to Tee’s instruction.”

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, Cowgirl.”

“No, I suppose I haven’t. What time do you want me over?”

“I’ll send Sisay over when dinner is ready.”

“That sounds good. I’ll see you all then.”

“Yes, we will, Cowgirl.” He waved, continuing about his business and leaving Maggie to hers.

Maggie fell back into her usual rhythm as she worked, and by the time she was done, she had a plan. She was going to get a message to Sam. Make it clear that everyone was fine, but that Bucky needed an ear, from someone who _wasn’t _her. She wouldn’t mention the dream. That would be difficult to convey over message. Sam would know there was something she wasn’t saying and would be able to translate for Steve. With any luck, Sam would be able to return a message, but Maggie knew well enough not to hold her breath.

_This is your plan? Really? Sam doesn_ _’t deserve ANY of this shit. _

Maggie knew that she was asking a lot yet again from Sam. Sam was on the run after fighting half of the avengers and then being locked away on a floating super-max prison because of Bucky because they were going to execute an innocent man. He was there because of Steve. He loved Steve, and he believed in Steve and all that Steve and, for that matter, all that Captain America stood for. She just hoped, when it came down to it, that Sam was looking out for himself.

_And now you’re asking him to pass a message along to Steve for you because Steve’s Cyborg formerly brainwashed assassin boyfriend is having a hard time._

No. Ultimately, she was doing this because she didn’t know what else to do. She wasn’t asking Sam to fix the problem, by any stretch of the imagination, she just wanted a bit of help getting word to Steve without raising alarms. Hopefully, Sam would understand. Hopefully, she’d get a chance to talk with him. Hopefully, at some point in the future, they would all look back and be able to laugh about it or some such shit. Well...probably not laugh, but be able to move past all of this.

Right now, everything felt grim, and Maggie was scared. She was scared for her friend, scared what her action or inaction might mean, and scared that once again, she might be facing a whole bunch of shit virtually on her own.

But there was nothing she could do about that right now. She had work to be getting on with. She would let Barnes try to figure out some of this shit on his own, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to reach out for help. Whatever happened next, she knew she couldn’t face it alone, nor should Barnes _have _to face it alone.

_And you said you didn’t want to be therapist Maggie._

Well, she hadn’t, and until such time Barnes said that he _wanted_ her as his therapist, she would continue to act as his friend and only his friend. Right now, that friend was worried and was going to pass that along the line to make sure that all of his _other_ friends were a little worried too. It was the very least she could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that was heavy, but I promise we're not going to have another one like this for a while! I hope you enjoyed the update, and I can't wait to share with you what I have cooking for the next few chapters! (We're almost halfway through this fic and over halfway through with the series overall! Hurrah!!!)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented, left kudos, subscribed, or bookmarked. You really do make this hobby all that more fulfilling. And I appreciate the patience with my update schedule being wonky. I hope everyone is having a good December, and that whatever holidays you celebrate (or don't) that they are excellent! 
> 
> As always, thanks for following along. Happy Reading!


	14. World’s Leading Expert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: One foot in Front of the Other by Emilie Autumn; Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree (With Anyone Else But Me) by Glenn Miller; Las Mananitas by Vicente Fernandez; Moonlight Serenade by Glenn Miller
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=M2v4LQQBQtCld3rWQQpv8g

Steve Rogers was worried. That wasn’t altogether a foreign sensation but weighed heavily on his mind. It had been two weeks since Sam had received a message from Ramirez from one of the Wakandan war dogs that had tracked them down.

He hadn’t thought anything of it until a few days later after they’d extracted themselves from a war zone, and Sam had had a chance to listen to the recording. Sam had pulled him aside and asked if they could talk.

They’d walked a safe distance away from camp out toward the perimeter before Sam had removed the kimoyo bead, and had pressed play.

Ramirez’s face had appeared in a hologram. Her features had been drawn, and grave and Steve imagined that if there had been any color, she would’ve appeared pale too. Steve’s stomach had immediately sunk. Something had happened.

It was a short message, no more than a minute, maybe two. Maggie assured Sam that everyone was fine, but that Bucky was in need of a sympathetic ear. _‘But, he’s going through some shit, Sam, and I might know how to talk to military guys, this is a little bit outside of my wheelhouse. If you have any suggestions for me, I’d gladly hear, but right now, I’m not sure how best to help him work through some of this.’ _

_“__I think that’s your cue, Steve.” _Sam had said once the recording ended. Obviously, Steve had given him a perplexed look, and so the other man had continued without waiting for a response. _“He needs you. He needs you more than we do. And you and I both know if you don’t go check up on him, and something happens to him, you’ll regret it.”_

_“_ _He’s in Wakanda. I can’t think of a safer place for him to be.”_

_“__You know what I mean, Steve. Go.” _Sam had squeezed his hand. _“We’ll be okay here. Mags wouldn’t have sent a message if she wasn’t worried. And that’s a big thing for her.”_

Sam was right. Steve knew Sam was right. It just didn’t feel right that after everything they’d sacrificed for him, and by extension for Bucky, that he was going to leave them to fend for themselves. After talking it over with Sam, they’d brought the subject up with Natasha and Wanda, who’d all but threatened to kick his ass if he didn’t go.

It had taken him a little while to get back into contact with the Wakandans, but now it was Bucky’s birthday, and he was sitting downstairs in the lobby of the Royal Wakandan labs. He was fidgeting, his legs bouncing, his hands, tucked between his legs.

He’d played it like he wanted to see Bucky for his birthday, a decision that had been apparently co-signed by none other than the Princess. Mostly, he wanted to see what had worried Ramirez enough to send a message to Sam.

“Steve?” His head snapped up to see Bucky walking across the lobby from the elevators toward him, the princess trailing behind.

“Buck!” Steve shot to his feet and crossed the lobby to meet him in the middle, pulling the other man into a hug.

Bucky wrapped his arm around him, leaning into the hug. “Good to see you, Steve,” He paused, pulling back to survey the other man’s face, his hand going to Steve’s shoulder, cupping his neck, “Is everything okay? Sam? Romanoff? Maximoff? They’re all okay?”

“Everyone is alive and well, and they wanted me to come see you for your birthday.” Steve managed. “I take it the Princess didn’t mention I was coming.”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at the young woman who stood watching from the side and gave her a look that Steve couldn’t quite decipher, before turning back to him. “She didn’t, but I’m glad you’re here.” He smiled.

It wasn’t a grave or a forced smile, it looked to be genuine, yet something twisted in Steve’s stomach as he tried to figure out what was _actually_ going on. “Just finished up my usual scan, everything looks good, you wanna head back out to my place?” He asked, pleasantly.

“Yeah, sure.” Steve nodded.

“Same time same day next month, Barnes?” The princess called.

“Yes, thank you!” Bucky answered, a corner of his mouth twisting up in a smile.

“Anything for you, white boy! Be good!”

“You too, Princess. Thank you!” He said, gently leading Steve out of the Wakandan labs and out onto the busy streets. “When did you get in? You have a chance to eat something yet?” Bucky asked as he walked confidently, shoulder to shoulder through the streets.

“Oh. Yeah. About an hour ago. Did a quick debrief with Wakandan intelligence, then showered and changed.”

“Good.” Bucky wrinkled his nose, before glancing over at him. “That suit of yours is getting _really _rank Steve, are you sure you don’t wanna take The princess’s offer up. She’ll design you a new one. It may _cost_ you something, but I know she wouldn’t mind a challenge.”

“I appreciate the concern, Buck. But I think I’ve already asked the Wakandans for a lot more than I can repay.” Steve answered, giving Bucky what he hoped was an inconspicuous once over.

He seemed fine. Then again, Bucky had always put on a brave face for Steve. Steve knew that. He wasn’t an _idiot_ after all. He knew his best friend, and yet Steve couldn’t help but get the feeling that he was missing something, there was a missing piece to the puzzle that he couldn’t quite fit into the open jagged little hole that would make the whole picture come into focus.

“So, have you eaten? I have food back at my place, but there is a great Kebab place just around the corner from the feed transport if you wanna grab something for the road.”

Before Steve could answer, his stomach growled loudly, and Bucky laughed. “Come on,” He said, grabbing Steve’s hand. “Let’s eat, the transport won’t leave for another thirty minutes anyway.”

_Okay, what the fuck?_

He’d been prepared for a lot of things. He’d been prepared for Bucky to be withdrawn or angry that Steve was there. He’d been prepared for Bucky to be quiet and broody. He’d been prepared for bad news. That there had been degradation in the treatment, that something was happening with his brain, with his memory, with the physical aspects of what Hydra had done to him. Something. _Anything! _But Steve hadn’t been prepared for this. For...for...well _normalcy. _He hadn’t had normalcy since he came out of the ice, _shit_ even before that, since 1942? Perhaps even before? And now...now this?

This wasn’t even normal. Well, perhaps it was for Bucky, but not for him. He could feel his pulse racing, as his eyes darted. Scanning the perimeter, making mental notes for where snipers could be hiding, aware of every set of eyes watching both him and Bucky as they moved through the market.

_You’ve been on too long, Steve. Maybe you needed this._

He couldn’t help but wonder at the ease with which Bucky moved as they appeared to arrive at the Kebab place. “You wanna look at the menu, or do you want me to order for you?” Bucky asked.

“Huh?” Steve stammered, glancing between the menu written in Wakandan with large accompanying pictures and Bucky who was watching him, a line of worry starting to knit itself between Bucky’s brows. “Oh. Umm, you know what’s good. You can order for me.” Steve managed.

Bucky said nothing but nodded. Letting go of Steve’s hand, he turned to the vendor and ordered in crisp, clear Wakandan.

Bucky chatted amiably with the vendor while he prepared their food, and then removing money from a pouch on his belt paid the man before collecting the first of the Kebabs. “Here, Steve. It’s hot.” Bucky said, handing off the Kebab gingerly before turning to collection the second one.

They ate contentedly in silence as they walked toward the transport back to the village. “I take it you enjoyed that.” Bucky chuckled, watching as he practically inhaled the kebab.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, finishing off the last few bites.

“That’s good.” Bucky said, “Well, here we are.”

It was a mule-drawn cart, noticeably empty. “We were dropping off animal feed to the capitol for further distribution around Wakanda.” Bucky continued as if reading his mind.

“Oh.” Steve managed, watching as Bucky situated himself on the back of the cart.

“We have a few minutes before the driver comes back. You wanna join me?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah. Sure.” Steve winced internally. His voice sounded pinched, tight.

Bucky looked completely at ease, his legs swinging gently. He was watching him closely, the crease between his brow deepening. “What’s going on, Steve?”

“Nothin’,” Steve shook his head, shoving his hands into the front pockets of the pants T’Challa had given him when he’d first arrived in Wakanda.

“Nothing. Right.” Bucky said dryly, his face remained still and impassive as he looked around. “Who told you?” Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky cut him off. “Don’t try to lie to me, Steve. We both know you’re shit at it, just tell me who told you.”

_Told me what, Buck? _Steve wanted to ask. Ramirez’s message hadn’t told him anything, not really, but now Steve was so wound up he wasn’t sure what she even meant by anything she’d said.

“Was it The Princess?” Bucky asked. “Or The King?” There was nothing hostile in Bucky’s tone. It was all matter of fact.

“Ramirez sent a message to Sam. All she said was you were going through some shit and needed a sympathetic ear," Steve said in one rushed breath, afraid that if he didn’t get it all out at once, it might never come out. And then, in the silence that followed, he found himself bracing for the worst.

Why was he concerned? Did he think Bucky was going to be upset? Perhaps. Yes. But what mattered. Or rather, what was important was that Bucky was healthy, and in the process of healing. If Ramirez was concerned about Bucky, enough to send a message, it was worth investigating, and furthermore being _honest_ with Bucky about why he was here.

Steve looked over at Bucky, who’s expression had morphed from one of concern, into one of shock and confusion. “She what?” He asked, brows furrowed together as he tried to puzzle through what he’d just heard.

“Ramirez...she...she sent a message to Sam. She was worried about you, didn’t say why exactly, just that you were going through a rough patch, and that she thought you could use a sympathetic ear. It took a while for it to get to us, but I’m here now. If you want me to be. If you _need_ me to be.” It felt corny and cheesy and stupid even as he said it, but he meant it.

Bucky didn’t say anything, didn’t look at Steve, didn’t so much as move a muscle. But Steve could see the inner mechanisms working in the other man’s head. What it meant, Steve didn’t know, but he was willing to wait it out, willing to let the other man formulate his thoughts, willing to be whatever Bucky needed him to be in this particular situation.

“About a month and a half ago, I had a significant backslide in my mental health. Paranoia, PTSD, _guilt.” _He said slowly. “I cut off contact with Maggie. I guess it freaked her out, which is why she contacted you.”

His word choice to his tone, to his facial expressions, were all deliberate, every muscle twitch, every sideways glance. There was something else that Bucky wasn’t telling him. Something more to the story.

“I understand.” Steve managed. And he _did_ understand from all perspectives involved. Steve had experienced a fraction of what Bucky had, there was going to be some residuals, he could understand not wanting others to have to experience all of that. He could also understand how Bucky suddenly severing contact would be off-putting, if not downright alarming. “Whatever you need, Buck," Steve added.

“Yeah.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I was trying to avoid this.”

“What?”

“Getting you involved.”

“What do you mean? You’re my friend, I love you. There isn’t anything I would do for you.” Steve protested while doing his best to be gentle.

Bucky chuckled, but it was devoid of all humor. “I know, Steve. I know. And I love you too.” He shook his head and sighed again.

“But?”

“I’ve been trying to figure you two out.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“You and Maggie. You’re a couple of strong-willed, stubborn, self-sacrificing morons.” He said. “I...uh...” Bucky looked down, his hand fiddling with a loose string on his pants. “I-”

“Buck.” Steve put his hand on Bucky’s, stilling it’s anxious movement. Bucky immediately tensed, but then relaxed almost instantly, adjusting his hand to take Steve’s hand. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m here because I wanna be here for you, because people who care about you are worried about you and what to make sure you’re okay.”

Bucky took a deep breath, nodding. He looked as though he was going to say something, but stopped as the driver approached. Bucky’s expression changed again, a smile spreading over his face. Exchanging a quick burst of conversation, the cart driver climbed up into his seat, and they started off back, Steve guessed, to the village.

Whatever was going on, Bucky clearly didn’t want to talk about it. Perhaps he’d get a chance to speak with Ramirez...Maggie, about it. At the very least, Bucky didn’t seem upset that Steve was here. In fact, he seemed perfectly at ease, but he was holding something back. Was he afraid of what he might think?

_You’re a couple of strong-willed, stubborn, self-sacrificing morons. _It wouldn’t be the first time that Steve had been called that, specifically by Bucky. He was, however, intrigued by how he’d been grouped together with Ramirez, whom Bucky had referred to as Maggie. Steve had known Ramirez for almost two and a half, nearly three years, and it struck him as _odd _somehow that Bucky had referred to her by anything other than her last name.

He didn’t know, but he needed answers, if not from Bucky, then from Ramirez. Glancing up at Bucky, Steve opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself. Instead, he edged himself closer to Bucky, stopping only as they brushed shoulders.

Then, without saying a word, Bucky leaned against him, setting his head on Steve’s shoulder, released a long, contented sigh.

Something was wrong, that much was true, but Steve wasn’t entirely sure if things could be altogether _bad._ He’d enjoy the ride back to the village, and who knows, maybe after a nap, and a little bit of downtime, Bucky might feel like talking. Or perhaps not. Whatever the case, they were together, and at the moment, that’s really what mattered.

-

Bucky was glad that Steve was here. _Really_ he was. He had rather dreaded the thought of spending his hundredth birthday alone. Sure, if he’d asked, the entire nation of Wakanda would’ve shown up to throw him one hell of a party. It was just the idea that he’d allegedly _lived_ for 100 years, while only having memories for about a quarter of it that he wanted to take with him. So a birthday party wasn’t a subject he’d broached with anyone. Not the Princess, not Omondi, not even to his therapist, though he knew he probably should bring up that whole only wanting to remember a quarter of it thing at some point.

His therapist. _Right. _That was the real reason that Steve was here. Maggie had gotten a message to Sam, who’d then diligently passed the word along to Steve, who’d decided the best course of action was to drop everything and travel hundreds, if not thousands of miles to make sure he was okay.

It was a romantic gesture to be sure, but one that Bucky knew had been needlessly spent. And he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to tell Steve that. The only thing he knew was that it meant unpacking a whole lot of really unpleasant things, and on his birthday too.

He turned his gaze to Steve, who was currently curled up on the reed mat, fast asleep in the middle of Bucky’s dwelling. It wasn’t a deep sleep, but it was restful. That was good, at the very least. Steve looked like he needed the rest. He never had been able to sleep well when they’d been on patrol, and from the looks of the bags under the man’s eyes, that was one thing that hadn’t changed.

His face looked peaceful, despite the evident exhaustion. Locks of sandy blonde hair fell across his face, and the scraggly beard smushed ever so slightly against the pressure of his face in the nook of his arm.

Bucky smiled, and though he knew he should’ve resisted the urge, leaned over to brush the strands gently out of his face.

Steve jerked awake, eyes flying open, darting around, searching for signs of danger. He settled slightly when he registered where he was after a few seconds, but now he was awake, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel more than a little guilty to have roused him from what had looked to be restful slumber.

“I’m sorry.” Steve stammered out after a moment, catching his gaze.

“Don’t be. I didn’t mean to wake you or startle you. You looked peaceful.” Bucky paused, a slight smile twisted at the corner of his mouth. “Like a greasy, hairy, little angel.”

“Little?” Steve snorted, easing himself wincingly into a seated position. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Of all the descriptors I just used, that’s what you’re going to take offense at, Steve?”

“Been a while since anyone has called me _little_, Buck.”

“Well, what about punk, jerk?”

Steve shook his head, chuckling lightly.

“You want some coffee?”

“Yeah. That would be nice.”

Bucky nodded, moving around the small space, he prepared the pot, aware that Steve’s eyes were following his every move.

_Is he checking out my ass, or is he still trying to figure out what’s wrong? _

Bucky knew that neither option was entirely out of the question, but that one was far more likely than the other. “You still take yours black, right?”

“Correct.”

“I have some fresh goat’s milk and local sugar. If you’re interested.”

“Just black is fine.”

Bucky poured coffee into two mugs, heaping an ample amount of sugar and milk into one, before handing Steve the unadulterated mug. They sat in silence, both sipping the coffee, and their minds both wrapped around a single thought, a single connecting thread. _Why had Maggie sent the message?_

He hadn’t spoken to Maggie in about a month and a half. Since he’d told her that he thought it was a bad idea for them to associate with one another, and since she’d given him a simple choice.

“_Chose what role you want me to play in your life.”_ Had been the basic gist of the situation.

So he’d decided that the role he wanted her to play was alive, and he’d elected to stay away. It had been hard, mainly because they still saw each other every Tuesday when he delivered feed to Jelani. They nodded at one another, Maggie would help him offload, and then he’d go about his business. If that particular arrangement had been difficult for her, she hadn’t let on, playing the role perfectly. Like an indifferent observer.

Yet, obviously, she hadn’t been _that_ indifferent. She’d played indifferent, but had felt strongly enough to send a message to Sam. A strong enough her message to prompt Steve to come check on him when Bucky _knew_ he had more important things to do.

“Steve.” Bucky’s voice shattered the silence, punctuation hard like an ice pick. “What _exactly _was in Maggie’s message?”

Steve surveyed him a moment, before slowly setting down his coffee mug and retrieving a single Komoyo bead from his pant’s pocket. “See for yourself, Buck.”

Bucky likewise set his coffee cup down, and slowly took the bead from Steve’s outstretched hand.

_Well fuck._

This certainly was unexpected, but he’d asked for it, and now he’d have to face whatever came next. He pressed the center button and watched as the holographic image of Maggie appeared between them.

She looked like she had that day. Her hair was wrapped around her head in a tight, tidy coil. Her face was still and calm as it had been. Yet, the moment she opened her mouth and spoke, Bucky knew that she’d been crying, with just the smallest hint of a ragged edge on her voice, barely audible but there nevertheless. And it stabbed at his conscience like an angry little splinter of glass, like a thorn dug in deep under a fingernail.

_“Hey, Sammie. I hope you’re doing well. I miss you, it’s been a bit since the holidays. I hope you and Steve, Nat, and Wanda got a chance to spend them somewhere warm, safe, dry, and comfortable. I hope you’re taking care of yourself, drinking lots of water, moisturizing, practicing proposer hygiene, and the like. I know what Steve’s beard looked like the last time I saw him. I better not find out you’ve been doing something horrible to your facial hair as well.” _Maggie chuckled, her eyes crinkling in the corners. _“Things have been a little hectic for me here, but I’m good. Everyone’s in good health and doing well.” _At this, she paused, inhaling a sharp breath. _“I’m worried about Bucky. He’s fine. Like, physically, everything is fine. But he’s going through some shit, Sam, and I might know how to talk to military guys, but this is a little bit outside of my wheelhouse. If you have any suggestions for me, I’d gladly hear them, but right now, I’m not sure how best to help him work through some of this.” _She sighed, shaking her head. _“He needs a sympathetic ear. While we certainly have a history together, at this point, I don’t think I’m the best candidate for that job at the moment. I don’t know. I guess I need a sympathetic ear, too, huh?” _She chuckled again, but this time there was little humor in it. _“I’m going to work on that, but if you have any advice in the meantime, I’m more than open to suggestions. Or even if you don’t have a suggestion and just wanna drop a line, I always enjoy hearing from you.” _

Then with little fanfare, she signed off, and the hologram ended.

_That’s it?_ He wanted to ask. That’s what had caused all of this trouble? But before he could even form the words, it struck him. That was the point. That was the whole point. She hadn’t wanted to create trouble. If she had, she would’ve told Sam everything would’ve laid out every fact, every gory detail. If she’d _really_ wanted to cause trouble, she would’ve gone directly to the Princess or even to the King. Yet, Bucky knew from the expression Steve was currently leveling on him, her message had been effective. It had done its job.

“Yeah. I was going through some shit.” Bucky said slowly after a moment. “And she told me before she sent that message that I shouldn’t try to parse through it by myself.” He took a deep breath. “It took me a bit, but I figured out she was right. So I’ve been seeing a therapist to work through everything that happened to me.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.” Steve said, haltingly, “But that’s not all of it.”

“No.” Bucky shook his head. “Steve, you know some of what I’ve done, and what I’m capable of-”

“Buck, that wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice.”

“I know. But I was in there, Steve. I saw what I was doing. I was in there.” Bucky wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him senseless if it meant getting him to understand that basic fact. But he couldn’t, and so he wouldn’t and instead picked up his coffee mug and stared down into its depths, trying to find his way through what he wanted to say. “Since Hydra. Since everything that’s happened, D.C. Last Chance, Vienna, Romania, Berlin, Siberia, I’ve hurt people. Intentional or not. That fact remains. I’ve hurt people, Steve, and I don’t want to hurt people.” He shook his head, blinking heavily as tears started to pool in the corner of his eyes.

Bucky exhaled sharply. Shaking his head. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t cry. He promised himself he’d be able to get through this entire explanation when it came to it. “I don’t want to hurt the people I care about.” Was all he could manage to get out.

“So you pushed her away. To protect her.” It wasn’t an accusation. Not exactly. It was merely a statement of fact, a fact that Steve knew and understood, perhaps all too well.

“Yeah.” It sounded stupid out loud.

It was something he’d been struggling with ever since he’d done it. Trying to convince himself that this was the right thing to do. He’d thought distance would help. He thought by making other friends and by filling his time, it would be easier to keep his distance. Yet, he found he still wanted to talk to her. Wanted, no practically craved, her friendship. She was funny and sarcastic and gave him shit about stuff. She was also unflinchingly honest, which Bucky respected and admired about her. She wasn’t honest to the point of cruelty, but she certainly wasn’t afraid of the truth. She made it look so easy. It wasn’t easy. Bucky knew that. If he’d learned one thing over the past month, honesty with another human being wasn’t easy, even being honest with yourself was an eternal struggle.

Bucky knew he should’ve gone to her. He should’ve gone to her and told her that he wanted her as his friend. He should’ve told her that he was going to therapy. He should’ve relieved some of the concern that was so very clear and apparent in her message. But she’d seemed so indifferent. She’d been so calm, and cool, and collected.

_Should. What a horrible word._

“I’ve messed this up, haven’t I?” Bucky admitted, feeling a sense of shame rise in his chest and constrict his lungs. He looked up, meeting Steve’s expression, which was twisted in concern. “Steve?”

“I don’t think I’m the one you should be asking, Buck," Steve answered after a long pregnant pause. He sighed, settling further into himself, clasping the coffee mug in both hands, he looked down. “But since you’re asking me. I’ll say this.” He glanced back up at him. “If she cared enough to send a message halfway around the world to make sure you weren’t alone. I think she’ll understand. Provided you’re the one to talk to her about it.” Steve shook his head. There was a story there, but now wasn’t the time to ask.

“When?” He managed, voice leaden with audible dread.

At this, Steve chuckled, “You and I both know I have the absolute worst timing.” He looked around the small space, examining the scene with the trained eye of a tactician. “What do you have planned for your birthday?

“Huh?” Bucky did a metaphoric double-take at the sudden shift in perspective.

“Your birthday, Buck. You _are_ turning one-hundred-years-old today, old man.”

“Yeah. No. No. I get that, but what does that have to do with...well...with any of this?”

Steve looked at him like he might roll his eyes but thankfully refrained. Instead, he nodded, clearing his throat before continuing. “I thought that it might give you a strategic reason to go speak with Ramirez.”

“Oh. _Oh._” Bucky felt like an idiot, but again, thankfully, Steve didn’t say anything. “Like? Right now?”

“You’re not going to feel any better until you go and talk to her. Invite her to dinner, and we can watch a movie. What’s next on your list?”

“High Noon, I think.” Bucky stopped as he actually processed what was being said. “Wait. No. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Bucky spluttered and stammered a stream of incoherent noises a moment before his brain started functioning. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to drag her back into this mess? When she has a chance to-”

He stopped at Steve’s incredulous but not unkind expression. “Buck.” He said gently, “You have to give her that choice.” Bucky didn’t say anything.

What was there to say? Steve was right. Bucky knew he needed to make right with her. He knew he needed to give her the choice, the option to either accept his friendship or reject it, on her terms rather than his.

_Why give her the option? Why let her walk back into the mess when you know damn well that giving her this option is going to be a front-row ticket to the shit show of the century. Bucky Barnes un-fucks his life, a thousand part series, limited run._

It just didn’t seem fair, to her, to him, to any of them, that she should be allowed back into the mess.

_Back into? She’s never been out of this mess, James Barnes, and you know it. _

There it was. There was the truth of it.

“Don’t you think I should wait? Until I have my shit in order?” It was a useless and rather pathetic excuse, but it was the only one that Bucky could come up with at present as he grasped at straws.

“By giving her a choice, you also give her a choice to walk away.”

“Moment by moment exercise in consent.” He murmured.

“Do you want her as your friend?” Steve asked.

Bucky took a deep breath. _But it’s not about what I want! _He wanted to scream, but he knew that was his brain playing unkind tricks on him. They’d been working on that. At least now, he was recognizing it was his brain being unfair.

“Yeah.” He managed, exhaling the breath he’d been holding. “Yeah, I do.”

_He wanted to be her friend. Shit, he'd settle for the mere opportunity to maybe get to be her friend, but that meant doing something difficult and likely painful._

“Then I think you should go over there, say your bit, ask her to come over for your birthday, and then let her make her choice.” Steve paused. “As the world’s leading expert in waiting too long, I’d ask, after all the waiting Ramirez has done, are you willing to ask her to wait longer?”

Bucky surveyed Steve. He wanted to say something smart, or at the very least tease him a bit about still being terrible with women after all this time, but there was something pained in his expression as he said it and so Bucky wasn’t going to push.

“I know, Steve. I know.” He was right. Bucky knew he was right. He needed to make right with her.

Some part of Bucky knew that this was not just for her but for him as well, and for Steve for that matter too. It would give them all a bit of certainty, and a firmer sense of where solid ground was. He only wished he felt ready. He only wished that he had more of his shit together.

“Com 'on Buck. How many times does a guy turn one-hundred?” Steve chuckled, smiling into his coffee mug.

“I’m still not sure how that’s entirely relevant to the conversation, but I take your point. Y.O.L.O. that’s what the kids say, right?”

“Back in about 2012," Steve said dryly.

“The Princess has been very diligent about catching me up on internet slang," Bucky replied, by way of an explanation.

Yes. You only live once. And if there was any day to remember that, it would be on your birthday. “Okay, Steve, okay.” He finished off his coffee and set it in the basin to wash later. “I’ll be back. Do you need anything before I leave?”

“I think I’ll manage.” Steve watched as he moved around the small hut, collecting his sandals and bag. “You gonna be okay?”

Bucky paused, standing over Steve. He wasn’t sure. Yes. Eventually, everything would be all right, but every cell in his body at the moment was screaming at him to not do the thing he was getting ready to do.

“Come here.” Steve rose, pulling him into a hug, which Bucky returned. They stood that way for a long moment as Bucky leaned into Steve’s embrace. When they finally broke apart, Steve cupped his face. “One way or another, it’s going to be okay, Buck. I’ll be here when you get back. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” He nodded.

They kissed, and Steve sent him on his way, down the long footpath toward Jelani’s village. He’d walked the path what seemed like hundreds of times, day or night, rain or shine, and he knew where all the little dips and troublesome rocks and holes were, and he could avoid with ease. Yet, today felt like he was finding each one with his foot, as if for the first time, as his stomach twisted into knots, and his mind raced, creating every possible stumbling block.

By the time Bucky approached the village, he could feel the sting of bile on the back of his throat. His mind battling itself as it tried to talk him out of what he knew he needed to do.

Steve was right, of course, he needed to make right with her. If not for his sake, then for hers. It was the least he could do.

Then as he rounded the last turn leading up to village dwellings, he could hear the sound of laughter, among them, was Maggie. The sound was loud and full and joyous. Bucky hesitated. She sounded happy, she sounded content. She sounded like she was doing just fine without him in her life.

_You need to give her a choice. This is giving her a choice, and allowing some closure, one way or another._ Bucky repeated over and over to himself, as he tried to hold onto his sense of calm and purpose.

Walking up to the grove of trees at the center of the village, he found a dozen women and half a dozen young girls gathered around participating in a variety of weaving, spinning, and dying activities. There was pleasant conversation as they worked, punctuated with peals of laughter. There were wizened old women with their grey, and white hair twisted neatly into long dreads, which were further braided and arranged on their heads who sat beside the young girls no more than nine or ten, working the various fibers into thread. The middle-aged women had their hair wrapped, and their scarves were arranged in magnificent knots, and they worked both the looms and the dying vats. The young women and teens with their hair twisted and beaded in the latest fashions worked the drying racks or received instruction on the massive looms. Situated in the mix of this intergenerational activity was Maggie. She was focused on her work at the loom she was sitting in front of while repeating phrases the women supplied to her. Tongue twisters, from what Bucky could manage. Not a nice thing to do to someone learning the language, but she seemed to be taking it in stride, a broad smile on her face.

Then, a hush came over the group, and as if by silence consensus, all eyes turned to him.

“Ahh! White Wolf!’ Teela addressed him in English, breaking the increasingly awkward silence. “I’m afraid my husband is away on business, is there something I can help you with.”

His mouth went dry as he glanced around at the collected expectant gazes he was receiving from every pair of eyes. Well, nearly every pair.

Maggie was focused down on her loom, her gaze intent and expression intense as she worked, aware of his presence, but doing her best to keep from acknowledging it.

_If you chicken out now, you have to face Steve when you get back to your place. You’ve made it all the way here, you can’t back out now. _Taking a deep breath, he managed, “I was hoping I could have a word with Maggie if she can be spared.”

All eyes volleyed from him to Maggie, who’s busy hands had stilled. Her smooth, even expression formed a wrinkle as her brows furrowed. “I mean, if you don’t mind, Maggie.” He added, trying to catch her eye.

There was a pause, as everyone around them held a collective breath, and what must have only been seconds stretched out into eternity while they waited for her answer. Then, wordlessly, she nodded. Rising, she brushed herself off before turning to address him directly without meeting his gaze, “Sure, we can talk. I have something back in my hut that I’d like to give you.”

Without waiting for him to respond, she started walking, “Oh. Okay.” He stammered as he followed after her, aware of the eyes that followed them as they walked away.

As they walked, Bucky wasn’t sure if he was glad for the silence or not. He only knew that it gave no relief to the tension that was building as he desperately tried to find the courage to say what he’d come to say in the first place. _Is that was she was waiting for? Does she want me to just start talking? Is she angry with me? _He didn’t know, and that was the worst of all.

Then as they began down the hill toward her dwelling, her pace slowed from a brusque walk to a more leisurely stroll, and she adjusted to match his pace so that they walked side by side.

“How have you been?” She asked, breaking the silence.

“Good. I’ve been good.” He managed.

“I’m glad.” Maggie paused, and Bucky braced for what he knew what’s coming next. “I take it you’ve reached a decision," she said plainly, nothing more, nothing less.

This wasn’t unexpected, or in Bucky’s view, unwelcome. This was a good lead in to what he needed to say, but now that he was here, he didn’t know _how_ to say what he needed to say. “Yeah.” Bucky started, but as soon as he did, his mind panicked, and everything he’d wanted to say flew out the window, leaving him grasping for straws, trying to pull words out of thin air.

She stopped and looked up at him, making eye contact with him for the first time. there wasn’t anger or frustration or hurt in her expression, though he would’ve almost preferred that to the calm, almost placid look of understanding on her face. “It’s okay, Bucky. Take your time.” Maggie said, her voice gentle, almost timid as if she was afraid if she spoke too loudly, he might spook.

_This isn’t about you, you moron. This is about her. About making sure that she’s okay about giving her a choice in what she wants from you._

Bucky took a deep breath before charging on. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I should-” He cut himself off. Collecting his thoughts and his courage, he took another deep breath and continued. “I have made a decision, and I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner. I wanted to come talk to you sooner. I just didn’t think it would be appropriate, considering what happened.” He winced. This wasn’t going well, but what was worse was the way she was just standing there, watching him with those big, dark, understanding eyes. “I’ve been seeing a therapist.” He blurted out. Then, when she didn’t say anything, he continued. “About three times a week, for about a month now.”

Maggie nodded thoughtfully, “About two weeks after your dream?” She inquired, more as conformation than curiosity as they started walking down the path again, slower than before. Still, the forward momentum felt like a reasonably good sign that things weren’t going horribly.

“Yeah.” He breathed. The words were coming easier now, although he still wasn’t sure what her reaction meant. “The Princess practically made it compulsory after my last brain scan. She was appalled at my brain chemistry. All but threatened to tell Steve and her brother.”

“Read you the riot act, huh?” There was amusement in her voice now, which was encouraging, but still, his stomach twinged. He wasn’t done yet. There was still so much more that needed to be said.

“She was right. You were right.” Bucky said. His thoughts felt all choppy, coming in bits and pieces. At this point, he was just glad they were coming at all. “I’ve been talking through some stuff. It’s been helpful.” He added.

“I’m glad.”

“That’s part of the reason why I waited to talk to you. I wanted to try to get my head on right. Trying to find ways to trust myself. Find ways to forgive myself.” The last sentence came out small and not at all confident, but at the root of it was truth. If he couldn’t trust himself or find ways to forgive himself, then how could he ask others to trust or forgive him. It was a process, incomplete and shoddy at the moment, but it felt important, vital, in fact, to say to someone who he felt he’d done wrong in so many ways. “I’ve been trying to make friends.” _So that you don’t feel obligated to be my friend, or think that I’m alone. _He didn’t say it, but that’s what it meant. That’s what he hoped she understood.

“That’s good. Me too,” she said lightly.

He felt relief wash over him, which was unexpected yet pleasant. So she hadn’t been alone worrying about him all this time. Good. That was good. “The weaving circle?” He hazarded.

“Yeah,” She nodded. “Oh, Bucky, I’m dreadful at it.” She giggled, shaking her head. “But they’ve been tremendously kind, and I have to say it’s been nice to have a _group_ of friends again. How about you?”

“Bao.” He said, watching her brow wrinkle. “A type of Mancala game,” He clarified quickly. “A board game. Some of the men in the village get together and play it in the evening. They roped me in shortly after all this started. They’re very competitive.”

“Oh. You any good?”

“After a fashion.”

“Oh?”

“Once they’ve all had a few.”

Maggie burst out laughing. It was a full chested laugh. Bucky wouldn’t call it beautiful, or pleasant, or melodic, but it was undeniably happy, and he couldn’t help but crack a small smile as he waited for the laughter to subside. “Yeah, that would do it.” She agreed, wiping at her eyes.

“But it’s fun. Or when we don’t play Bao, they give me lessons in Wakandan epics.”

“Really?”

“Well yeah. Most of Wakandan history is oral. They have written records, but the true mark of a learned Wakandan is being able to recite all the old stories from memory. So they have contests to see who can remember the most stories. It goes on for hours and often devolves into some aggressive heckling if someone gets something wrong. They’re very competitive.”

“That seems to be a running theme, but it sounds absolutely beautiful and fascinating. I’d love to hear some of it at some point.”

“I’ll have to ask, but next time Omondi hosts a contest, you should come and listen with me.”

“That sounds wonderful. You’ll have to translate for me. My Wakandan hasn’t improved much.”

“Those tongue twisters are no joke.” He commented.

Pink tinged her cheeks.“You heard that?”

“You were doing admirably.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute, James Barnes.” She shook her head, bashfully.

“And why would I lie?”

“Doll?” She raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“Hey, I wasn’t going to presume.” He raised his hand in mock surrender.

Maggie nodded with a bright little smirk. “Well, here’s looking at you kid, huh?”

“Kid?” Now it was his turn to raise a skeptical brow.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t quite work when addressing the resident geezer.”

“I’ll have you know I’m _only _the third oldest in the village.”

“Oh. _Only_. And the country?”

“Haven’t asked.”

“Well, I would warrant you’re the best looking for your age.” She laughed, “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

They padded down the path in companionable silence a moment before she sighed. “Ugh. I’ve missed this.”

“Me too.”

“I forgot how hard it is to make friends.”

“Jeeze, right?”

“It was so easy as a kid, I don’t know how we managed it when we were kids.”

“Being trapped together eight hours a day will do that for you.”

“I hear the military is good for that, too," Maggie added.

“Yeah,” He agreed.

“So, any big plans for the big One-double-O?”

“Actually, that’s part of the reason I’ve come. Steve and I wanted you to join us for dinner.”

“Oh. Steve’s in-country?” Bucky couldn’t help but notice how her tone pitched upward ever so slightly.

“Yeah. He mentioned you sent Sam a message.”

At this, she stopped dead in her track and turned squarely to face him, an expression of horror and shock, gripping her features as the blood drained from her face. “Bucky—I—I’m sor—I shoul-”

“You did the right thing, Maggie,” he interjected before she could stammer on any further. “It should be me thanking you for caring enough to do that for Steve and for me. You don’t have any reason to apologize.”

“You’re not angry?” She asked, still tense as if waiting to waylay an oncoming maelstrom.

“A little late to worry about that, isn’t it?” He asked in what he hoped was a playful manner.

A flush rose on her cheeks, her face reddening as if in a rush to replace the previous blood loss.“I mean—I—”

“I’m not angry, Maggie," Bucky said firmly. “A month ago, I probably would’ve been pissed. Chalk it up to time and distance, giving a bit of perspective, but I understand why you did it, and I’m grateful.”

He felt stupid admitting that, but the look of relief that washed over her was worth any amount of discomfort on his part. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He added, for good measure.

Maggie surveyed him a moment, and Bucky was almost sure she was going to say something. Instead, she just nodded firmly, and they resumed the steady march down toward her dwelling.

Bucky watched her out of the corner of his vision. This was not how he’d expected this conversation to go, but he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected, or furthermore, even now where he stood with her. Yet, as they walked, he got the feeling that there would be no further conversation. He’d made his decision, and that was all that needed to be said between them.

“I’ve missed you, Bucky.” She admitted in a small, soft voice, almost out of earshot.

It was a small admission, but it made his heart pound and his mind race. _I’ve missed you too. _He wanted to reply. He wanted to grab her hand and hold it as they walked. Wanted to tell her about all of the movies he’d watched and books he’d read and for them to launch into their usual banter, but it wasn’t the appropriate time or place for it, not yet.

Before he could summon the courage to say anything, they arrived outside of her hut, and she turned to him. “I’ll be right back.” She stammered hurriedly.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Nodding, she rushed into her hut and disappeared from sight. The only hint to her activities was the sound of shuffling, muttering, and a number of low crashing noises before she emerged a moment later with a square of folded fabric in both hands.

“I would’ve had it with me, but I didn’t think I was going to see you today.” She beamed proudly, extending the square to him.

“Thank-Thank you.” He stammered, their fingers brushing as he took it in hand. “You really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“It’s a scarf. I cut it from the remnants of the fabric you bought for me back New Year’s Eve when we ran into one another at the market.”

“I do remember.” He paused, glancing up at her. “You...you made it for me?”

“Mhh, Hmm.” She beamed proudly.

“Thank you, Maggie. For everything.” It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. Yet, it was all he had to give. For now, that would have to be enough until he could make it up to her, somehow.

“Of course.”

There was a long pause, and he drew in an even longer breath. “But, Maggie.” He continued. “I _do_ want to be your friend, seeing as they’re hard to make when you’re not in grade school. Provided that’s something you want, after everything.”

Maggie surveyed him a moment, “I would.” She smiled gently. “I’ve missed our movie nights.”

“Me too.” He admitted, feeling bashful in his admission. “Steve and I were going to watch ‘High Noon’ this evening after dinner if you’d care to join us.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude, particularly since you don’t get to see Steve very often.”

“It is my hundredth birthday. I’d like you to be there to celebrate. It’s not every day someone breaks into triple digits."

“No. I suppose not.” She agreed.

“As long as that’s something that you want.” He rushed out, the words running together.

Maggie gave him an understanding look and nodded. “It would be my absolute pleasure to spend your birthday with you, James Barnes.”

Bucky didn’t have a response to that. He glanced away and down at the scarf. The fabric was a dark brown chocolate color with brown patterns, dotted with ornate, blue designs on the face of the scarf. It was folded neatly, but the hem that he could see was done inexpertly, yet he couldn’t help but note the way that his throat seized at the very _thought_ that she’d spent time on him. Time enough to measure, cut out, and then hem something, just for him.

“Do you like it?” Maggie asked, hesitantly breaking the silence between them.

“Yeah.” Bucky cleared his throat, “Yeah. Could you tie the knot for me?” He asked, glancing up at her. She was watching him, her expression was soft.

“I can.” Maggie extended her hands to him, and he set the scarf in them.

Bucky watched as she unfurled the fabric square, and marveled at how much _allegedly _extra fabric she’d used for the scarf. She gathered two of the corners and knotted them expertly. He could’ve fumbled his way through trying to knot the thing or have asked Steve to do it for him, but he’d wanted to see what she would do, and furthermore wanted to both be able to wear it right now and show her his appreciation for her gift.

“Ta-da!” She announced, holding the scarf up by the knot in a triumphant pose.

“Just a minute.” He said, pulling the scarf he was wearing over his head, he tucked it into his satchel before donning the new one.

“Looks good.”

“Thanks.”

There was a long pause as they stood, facing each other, neither apparently sure of what they wanted to say.

“I won’t keep you, I know you probably want to get back to your weaving circle.”

“Yeah, I need to get a few more inches on my patterns before Teela lets me quit for the day.” She admitted playfully.

“I look forward to seeing what you manage to create.”

“Yeah? Me too.” Maggie chuckled lightly. She paused, “Thank you for dropping by, it was nice to see you.”

“I’ll see you tonight, right? I know Steve would like to see you too.” He would’ve cringed at the near hopeless desperation in his voice, but didn’t if only not to embarrass himself further.

“I’ll come by for dinner, I’m afraid I have some work things to attend to later tonight and won’t be able to stay for the movie. Is there anything you’d like me to bring?”

Well, it was better than nothing, and although he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was only coming to be nice, it would be nice to have both Steve and Maggie there to celebrate his turning one-hundred. “We have everything covered, but if I think of something between now and then, I’ll let you know.”

“What time?”

“Six.” He said firmly.

“Excellent. I’ll be there.” Maggie smiled. “Well, I guess I better head back. What should I tell the others when they ask?”

Bucky hesitated, frowning. “I...I uhh, I don’t know...know what you mean by that...” He admitted.

“They’re going to ask what we were talking about? Should I say birthday stuff?” 

“Whatever you think is best.”

“Okay.” She nodded, with a widening grin. “I’ll do my best to add positive grist to the rumor mill.”

“Rumor mill?” He echoed.

“Oh, of course!” Maggie laughed, shaking her head. “It’s a universally acknowledged truth. Particularly when it comes to the Maggie-Bucky betting pool.”

“Ah. That. Right? How could I have forgotten.” He chuckled dryly.

“Yeah. _That._”

“See you later, then?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.” She nodded. “Let me know when you’ve made it safely back to your place and send Steve my best.”

“Of course.”

“Bye!” She waved before turning and marching back up the hillside to where she’d left her work.

Bucky waited until she’d disappeared from sight before turning back down the path toward home, where Steve was waiting for him. He was still feeling perplexed as he walked home, but now there was far less turmoil. He and Maggie were going to be friends, she was going to come over and celebrate his birthday, and things, it seemed, were going to be okay. That was all he could ask for today or any day, for that matter.

One foot in front of the other, bit by bit, things were going to be okay.

-

_She’ll come to dinner but not the movie. _Bucky had announced when he’d returned from where Ramirez was staying.

Bucky hadn’t seemed particularly upset by this announcement, but he also hadn’t let on how their meeting had gone otherwise. Ultimately, Steve knew it was none of his business, and if Bucky was choosing to play this close to his chest, that was his right. But Steve was a nosy gossip. He’d learned from the best, and had undoubtedly given Becca good primer back in the day. While he would never admit it, he was dying to know what Bucky had said to Ramirez, what Ramirez had said in return, and why exactly Bucky had returned with a different scarf than the one he’d left with. Bucky hadn’t offered any answers, and so Steve hadn’t pushed.

Then Bucky had been called away on an errand for Omondi. Giving him brief instructions on what to do for dinner, Bucky had then departed, leaving Steve alone.

Steve was glad bucky was keeping busy and apparently doing well, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Bucky was still withholding information. He was worried.

So he set to chopping vegetables and preparing dinner for Bucky’s hundredth birthday party celebration. He paused in his activities only at the sound of footfalls and looked up to see Ramirez standing at the edge of camp.

“Hey Steve.” She smiled, adjusting the bag over her shoulder. Her hair was down in a long braid that around by her waist. She wore a halter top jumpsuit in the same fabric as Bucky’s new scarf, Steve couldn’t help but notice, and sturdy leather sandals on her feet. She looked perfectly at ease, as compared to the last time they’d seen each other. Had she made the jumpsuit and then the scarf? The scarf and then the jumpsuit? Was it mere coincidence. Steve didn’t know.

“Hey, Ramirez.” He said as he rose to his feet.

“I’m not early, am I?” She asked almost nervously as she glanced around, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear with her left hand, a set of delicate bracelets around her wrist.

“No. Not at all.” Steve shook his head, “Bucky had an errand to run.”

“Oh, okay.” She paused, “It’s good to see you, Steve.”

“You too.”

“Oh, come here.” Ramirez smiled, crossing the yard she went up on her toes and gave him a quick hug which Steve had to lean into to accommodate.

He’d forgotten how small she was. How physically fragile and weak she was in comparison to him, Bucky, Natasha, or even Sam. Yet, Steve was always struck by her tremendous strength of will and spirit, and how big in their minds, she’d managed to become despite her physical size.

“I’m glad you’re here.” She said as they drew apart.

“Yeah, me too. Thank you for your message.”

“I apologize if it caused you any un-due alarm, but I was concerned.”

“Yeah. No. I get that.” He paused. Ramirez’s expression was so earnest and sincere. He had so many questions, and he wasn’t sure where to start. But if something terrible had happened, she would’ve told them, right? She wouldn’t keep that from him? She’d been very clear that she and him were both fine, that they were both in good health. This feeling that Bucky was holding something back was all in his head, wasn’t it? “But you two, you’re, you’re all right? Right?” Steve asked, breathlessly.

“I think so.” She surveyed him before continuing. “Bucky didn’t tell you what happened, did he?”

“No.” Steve shook his head. “I mean, sort of. He told me that his mental health was in a spiral and that he pushed you away.”

Ramirez nodded and waited a beat before meeting his gaze again. “He had a dream, and I’d be willing to bet my non-existent life savings, that there were multiple dreams, where he was triggered by Hydra and forced to kill people. Me, in particular. He didn't‏ give specifics, but it was bad enough to freak him out.”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. He knew the nightmares he had, he could only imagine the types that haunted Bucky in his sleep. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I just wanted you to know that no one was physically harmed. He didn’t try to hurt himself, or me, or anyone else for that matter. He just really needed a sympathetic ear. Hence my message. And now you’re here, and we’re having a birthday party!” She said lightly.

But I should’ve been here all along, with him, helping him with this. I should’ve been with him while he was trying to figure all of this out. But he’d been needed elsewhere. Sam needed him too. Sam was on the run because of him and because of Bucky. Sam needed Steve to be present and focused. Nat and Wanda, they were doing their own thing, but Sam had been the firm and steady hand that Steve had relied upon when they’d been tracking down Bucky, and now on the run, Sam deserved all of Steve’s support and comfort. Not just as his partner, but as his teammate. He just couldn't‏ justify sitting comfortably warming himself in the Wakandan sun while his team, while his boyfriend mopped up the mess, he’d made.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Steve.” She said, squeezing his arm tenderly. “Bucky is well looked after. And now that he’s going to therapy, he’s learning how to manage his stressors and triggers. It’s a process, but he’s made a good step forward.”

“You sound so sure.”

She smiled demurely. “I was a therapist before I became a Private Superhero Investigator, turned vigilante gun runner. Recognizing you need therapy, and actually going to therapy are two very different things. The fact that he’s made a decision means he’s building the networks of support that he needs to aid his recovery along.”

“Good. That’s good.” Steve said. “Thank you, Ramirez.”

“For?”

“Caring. Or caring enough to reach out.”

“Of course.” She nodded, smiled warmly. “Now, we have a birthday dinner to prepare.” Ramirez walked to the table where he’d been sitting, and sunk down opposite, opening her satchel began removing ingredients. “So how’s Sam? I hope you’re not having him do anything too stupid while you’re away?”

“Oh no, Sam gets into plenty of stupid without me around to help that along.” Steve chuckled.

“Trust me, I know, but you certainly have helped broaden the depth and variety of stupid he’s able to get up to.”

“Okay. Fair. But he’s good. He and Nat and Wanda are laying low. They’re supposed to call me if they get into any sort of trouble.”

“So what’s the going rate? 24-48 hours?”

“For what?”

“Before you call to check in on them.”

“I trust them.” Steve protested.

“But do you trust them to call you if it means interrupting your best friend and long-time squeeze’s hundredth birthday party?” She raised a playful eyebrow.

Steve froze. The thought had occurred to him, but now that Ramirez had vocalized it, his mind started to spin with the possibilities.

“Steve. I’m kidding.” She laughed.

“Oh. Right. Yes, of course.” He stammered as he joined her at the table and resumed preparing vegetables for dinner. Steve stopped a moment watching as she added and mixed together with the various ingredients she’d brought. “Cake?” He ventured.

“Actually, no. Sopapillas.” She answered. “Bucky and I normally have those when we do movie nights. However, I’m doing something slightly different with them on account of it being his birthday.”

“What’s that?”

“Rather than just honey, I’m going to top them with sliced mangos, chocolate, and homemade whip cream.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Should be.” She nodded. “So. All kidding aside, how long do you plan to stay in country?”

“24 to 48 hours. I don’t want to be away too long.”

“I understand. I appreciate you both letting me encroach upon your time together. I know leave time is all too precious.”

“Of course," Steve replied. He paused, glancing around. “Do you think. I mean. I don’t know if you could answer this, but,” Steve could feel his breath hitch in his chest. “Do you think he’s happy here?”

Ramirez didn’t answer immediately, her eyes maintained their focus, even as Steve could see the wheels behind them working while she formulated her response. “I think he’s trying to be. Though I think the change of pace is a little jarring. I know it was for me, and I haven’t been through a fraction of what you or him have been through. Why? You thinking about picking out real estate and settling down in the Wakandan countryside?”

“No. No. I couldn’t leave Sam to clean up my messes.”

“I was saying bring Sam with you, but your point stands.” She smiled.

“Yeah," Steve said. A sharp knot stabbed at his chest, and he looked back down at the cutting board.

Every day. He’d thought about that question, thought about retiring nearly every day since he’d gotten out of the ice. He wanted to, but what would he do? He couldn’t imagine himself settling down and living the slow life. Life wouldn’t let him. There would always be another fight, another battle that would call him away. But he would fight every day if it meant that Bucky could live here quietly, with his goats in his hut away from the fray. Even though it meant they were apart and that they had to steal moments together. It was worth it to Steve to continue to fight if it meant Bucky didn’t have to. How long that would be tenable, he didn’t know, but he’d do it as long as he needed to.

He needed to make sure in the long run that Bucky was going be safe, that the world was going to be safe without him. He needed to find a way to make right with Tony so that he, and Sam, and Nat, and Wanda and everyone else would have a chance for civilian life. He’d want Sam to come with him, of course, but even then, he wasn’t even sure how that would work at the moment. Or what Bucky and Sam would think about that sort of proposition.

“But to answer your question, Sam’s good. ” Steve said, clearing his throat.

“I’m glad to hear it. He’s a good man, you’re lucky to have him.”

“I know.”

“Good.” She said without skipping a beat.

There was no further admonishment, no lecture, no ‘you hurt him, I hurt you’ lecture. Yet, Steve knew that all those things had been contained in that single syllable. _Strength of will, not of size. Sound familiar, doesn’t it?”_

“You mind if I turn on music?” She inquired.

“Not at all. What did you have in mind?”

“I was going to ask for your preference.” Ramirez paused, her mouth twisting into a mischievous smile. “Although, I have to say, Steven Grant Rogers, you’ve been holding out on me. You ran into Glenn Miller while on tour with the OSC and failed to mention that to me the entire time we were living on avengers property together? I am hurt and offended!”

Steve could feel a flush rising on his cheeks. “Whatever Bucky told you, it wasn’t that big of a deal.” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Not a big deal. Right, like plowing Glenn Miller down in a hallway in Georgia and not recognizing him isn’t a big deal.” Bucky’s voice cut in sarcastically, and Steve looked up to see Bucky walking toward them. “Next, you’re going to tell her that working with Hedy Lamarr, Lana Turner, and Judy Garland on a Bond Sales Campaign together wasn’t a big deal.”

“It’s been over seventy years, Buck. Are you ever going to let me live that down?” Steve glanced up at Bucky, who stooped down and pecked him on the check.

“On my hundredth birthday? No. I don’t think so.” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head, he stood back upright. “Glad you made it, Maggie.” He cracked a smile. “Do excuse him, I trust he’s been on his best behavior.”

“Only his best," Ramirez said brightly. “And as the birthday boy...man...elder...has arrived, he gets to pick the music.”

“Well, Steve knows I’m more than a little partial to Miller, but as you are both my guests, I’m going to let you fight it out," Bucky answered.

Ramirez glanced over at him with a broad grin. “So. How ‘bout it, Rogers?”

Steve exhaled a strangled sigh and chuckled. “Miller.”

“Sounds good.” She nodded seriously. Queuing up the music, she chuckled to herself as the first notes of “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree (With anyone else but me)” started playing softly from a speaker somewhere out of Steve’s direct line of sight.

“Everyone happy?” Bucky asked.

“I can’t believe you told her about that.” Steve shook his head.

“Oh come on, Rogers. Cut the guy a little slack, I did get unrestricted access to all of the stories from you and Becca when I was living with you.”

“Oh yeah. Fanny McGregor?” Steve questioned, watching as Bucky rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a fond smile.

“Yeah. But my favorite is Becca’s retelling of how she and Bucky did a dramatization of Little Red Riding Hood.”

“Because the woodsman was hacking up a lung?” Bucky provided as he stoked the coals and added more fuel to the fire.

“I distinctly recall that you got in trouble for ripping your mother’s nightgown.” Steve interject before adding in the best falsetto he could conjure, “All the better to see you with my dear.”

“Which was immediately preceded by Becca hitting me, not so gently over the head with a brick, yes.” Bucky winced, rubbing the back of his head, for, Steve was sure, the purposes of dramatic retelling.

Ramirez laughed.

“So. What can I help with, you two?” Bucky asked, towering over them.

“Absolutely nothing, James Barnes.” Ramirez cut in before Steve could answer. “It is your hundredth birthday. You will make yourself a drink and relax.”

Bucky turned opened mouthed to Steve, who shrugged, “You heard the woman.”

“It seems I’m outvoted. Can I get either of you anything to drink while you work.”

“If you could put on a pot of coffee. I wouldn’t mind a mug. Steve?”

“Coffee sounds perfect.” He agreed.

Bucky set to work on the coffee, while the music played, and they all talked and told stories, and laughed as they made and then consumed dinner.

Ramirez’s sopapillas followed, and they were sugary and perfect, and they brewed two more pots of coffee, chatting late into the evening.

“So. Movie?” Bucky suggested as there was a decided lull in the conversation. “Before it gets too much later?”

“I’m afraid I can’t stay. I told Jelani I’d be by to check on one of the horses.” Ramirez shook her head, quickly draining the rest of her mug.

“Oh. okay.” Bucky said, and Steve couldn’t help but note the palpable disappointment in Bucky’s tone as if he’d rather hoped he’d changed her mind over the course of the evening.

“Sorry. Sick horse. We’re all taking rotations. Jelani has a couple of other things he’s dealing with.” Ramirez said apologetically as she rose from where she’d been situated. “Otherwise, I would.”

“Nothing serious, I hope," Steve said, glancing between them, trying to get a read for what was going on.

“No. Thankfully, he just needs to be checked on and possibly given another round of medication.”

“Before you go,” Bucky began hesitantly as also stood up.

“Oh yeah. I was going to help with clean up before I went.” She commented, before starting to the washbasin.

“No. We have that handled.” Bucky shook his head.

“Oh?” Ramirez’s stopped, and turned to him, brows knit in confusion.

“Could you sing, Las Mananitas? For my birthday?”

His voice was so small that Steve was almost convinced that Ramirez hadn’t heard him, because, for a long moment, she didn’t make a sound as they stood, facing each other in silence. “It’s been a while, Bucky.”

“I know.” He nodded, his voice no more than a low murmur. “Please?”

At this, Steve looked down, unwilling to intrude upon what was clearly an intimate moment that he had no part in.

Then, without fanfare, introduction, or prelude, Ramirez started to sing. Steve remembered her singing during the Day of the Dead celebration she’d invited him to. It had been a sad song that she’d sung then. This one, while still slow and haunting when sung a capella, was about life, about celebration, about starting a new day with all of its promises and blessings. Steve glanced up only once as Ramirez sang, to catch a glimpse at Bucky’s face. There was nothing immediately telling about the other man’s expression, but there was something tender and soft in his features as if some weight that had been lifted since this morning when Steve had first arrived.

The song ended, and Ramirez cleared her throat, chuckling as she tucked that same errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Maggie," Bucky said. “Have a good night. Let me know when you make it back safely, okay?”

“Of course.” She answered, closing the gap between them, went up on tiptoes to give bucky a hug, which he returned and held. “Happy Birthday. Here’s looking at you, old fart.” She chuckled softly.

“Thanks, doll.” Bucky returned in an exchange Steve was almost sure he wasn’t supposed to be witness to.

When they broke apart, Ramirez turned to him. “Steve, thank you so much for letting me intrude on your time. Let me know if you need anything while you’re here, and if I don’t see you before you leave, be safe, and give Sam my best.” She said as she met him in a quick hug.

“Of course. Good night Ramirez.”

“Good night Steve.” She replied, collecting her things.

“Night, Maggie.”

“Good Night, Bucky. Don’t give each other too much of a hard time while I’m gone, all right?”

“No promises with this one,” Bucky said, motioning to Steve with the top of his head.

“Behave you two. Night!” She laughed, waving as she started down the dark path back toward her village.

They stayed silent a moment as they watched her go, Bucky’s eye’s following her down the path until she disappeared from sight. “She going to be okay, walking back by herself?” Steve asked.

“Oh, yeah, she’ll be fine.” He said breathlessly, as he turned to Steve. “Thank you. For making me go talk to her.”

“Of course. I’m glad she agreed to come to have dinner with us tonight.” Steve nodded.

“Me too.”

“So. movie?” Steve asked.

“Actually. Steve.” Bucky began hesitantly. “Dance with me?”

“I’d love to, Buck.” Steve breathed.

“Good. Okay.” He nodded.

“Anything in mind?”

“Only one of my favorites.” He answered, a wry smile twisting at the corner of his mouth.

Moonlight Serenade started over the speakers, and wordlessly, Steve took Bucky in his arms, and they danced. Danced like they had in their shitty apartment back in Brooklyn, danced like they had in stolen moments during the war. They danced in the flickering light of dying coals with no certainty of what tomorrow would bring, and only the knowledge that they loved each other, deeply, unconditionally, and without regard for the rest of the world. As he held Bucky tight, knowing that he could be called away, back to whatever fight that needed to be fought, he was comforted in the knowledge that at the very least they had now. They had tonight. That while everything might not be okay, it seemed like it was going to be. And although he might not be able to be here for him one hundred percent of the time, there were people here that cared deeply for Bucky, people, it seemed, Bucky likewise cared deeply for too, whether or not either of them knew it, yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all thank you, everyone, for your patience. It’s been super busy for me but I hope this super long chapter makes up for it (at least a little bit!). I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope to hear what you think! 
> 
> Comments, kudos, and everything in between is welcome (carrier pigeons may be a bit difficult to facilitate, but I’m sure we can work something out).
> 
> Happy New Year!


	15. Aloe Day Dreams and Unintended Side Effects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> TW: allergic reaction, anaphylaxis, almost death (off-screen/only mentioned)
> 
> Recommended Listening: Enamorada de Ti by Selena; I Won’t Say (I’m in Love) by Susan Egan; Just What I Needed by the Car; Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol; (I Just) Died in Your Arms Tonight by Cutting Crew
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=d_18X72TQCKT0HHtE3HmaQ

Steve had come and gone, and things for Maggie and Bucky had gone back to normal. Well, as normal as things could possibly be between them. They’d fallen back into a routine of sorts, lunch on Tuesdays, and occasional movie nights when they could be spared from their other commitments. Bucky with his Bao and poetry, Maggie with her spinning and weaving circle and weekly potluck. She’d also been working out with some of the Dora who’d invited her along on their morning runs, and although she could hardly keep up, she enjoyed the companionship. She couldn’t speak for Bucky, but Maggie felt that her life was full and busy and that their sabbatical had given them a chance to grow their social networks in a healthy and mindful way.

So why did she miss him?

She’d pondered that question after he’d left. She’d done her best _not_ to miss him. There was really no point in missing someone who didn’t want you around, and so she’d tried to fill her life with joyous, wonderful, and productive things. She’d learned to sew, she was in the process of learning to weave, the women of the village (spearheaded by Tee) had taken her in with open arms, and she enjoyed their friendship and companionship, and did all she could to be a worthy friend and companion.

Had she missed him because he was a link to Becca? To life stateside? Did she miss him because he was funny and smart and charming (when he wanted to be) and was as much a fish out of water here as she was?

They hadn’t really talked about that month and a half where they didn’t see one another. Hadn’t talked about the implications, of what it had meant, or what it did mean for their friendship going forward.

It really didn’t really matter. They both wanted each other in their lives as friends.

Maggie couldn’t help but think about the day and, of course, the night of Bucky’s birthday party. He’d just come up from nowhere and asked to talk with her and had proclaimed that he’d made his choice and that he wanted to be her friend.

She’d, of course, acquiesced. She wanted to be his friend. She’d missed him, missed their banter and camaraderie.

Then she’d shown up and visited with Steve. He’d been wound up, stretched so thin he twanged like a guitar string. Yet, the moment that Bucky had shown up, all of that had melted away, and Steve had noticeably relaxed. Bucky, too, his expression normally creased with care and worry even during their best and happiest exchanges, was bright and twisted in a grin. He’d been so relaxed and had laughed and smiled with astonishing ease.

Part of that she knew was due to Steve. Another part of that, Maggie reasoned, was the therapy, which seemed to be genuinely helping (though she knew that progress there was always slow).

Regardless of its origin, Maggie had seen a transformation in Bucky, a bright light shone from him and his expression, which resembled the picture that Becca had woven in her words, and that Steve had quite literally sketched in his letters home. Her mind was drawn back to the girlish crush she’d developed while listening to Becca talk about her older brother. The walks through the park, the drinks at the soda fountain, the kiss on a rainy fire escape.

_Now you’re being stupid._

Maggie shook her head, focusing back on the pattern she was weaving in her blanket.

“You making any progress on that, Ramirez?”

She jumped, startled, and looked behind her to see none other than Bucky Barnes standing there watching her. “What the fuck, Barnes? How long have you been standing there?” She laughed, throwing her hand dramatically over her heart.

“Just walked up. How long have you been sitting in front of that loom? All afternoon?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“Show me your progress.”

“All right. All right. Come here.” She pat beside her on the mat she was sitting on, motioning for him to join her.

He sunk down beside her, and looked studiously at the loom frame and then at the shuttle she was fiddling with before leveling his steady gaze on her.. “All right, Maggie. Talk me through it.”

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and she nodded, swallowing hard before she started her instruction. He watched with keen interest, nodding along as she explained the different techniques and methods for working the loom.

“So how far have you gotten today?” He asked once she’d finished her explanation.

“A good three or four inches. I’d wager.” She answered.

“Well, it’s looking good.” He paused. “How’s your Wakandan?”

“Still worse than my weaving.” Maggie laughed.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Bucky smiled before slowly and carefully saying a sentence in Wakandan.

Maggie frowned, furrowing her brow. “Repeat that, please?” She managed in response, her pronunciation shabby.

He repeated the phrase, reaching into his satchel as he did.

Maggie shook her head. “I really, _really_ don’t know.” She admitted, a flush rising on her cheeks.

“Here.” He pulled a lump of something wrapped in cloth out of his satchel and extended it to her.

“What is it?” Maggie asked, hesitantly reaching out to take it.

“Goat cheese. From my small little herd.” Bucky explained. “And for the record, I asked ‘would you like some goat cheese.’ Just for future reference.”

“If you write it out for me, maybe,_ maybe, _I’ll remember it.” Maggie chuckled, inspecting the lump of cheese, turning it over in her hands. “But thank you. I look forward to cooking with it. It’ll be tasty.” She paused, glancing up at him. “Is that why you’re up here at this time of day?”

“It is.” He nodded.

“Well, let me run this inside. If you’d like, you can take a turn at the loom, you can’t be any worse at it than I am.” She laughed as she rose.

“I think you’re doing a fine job.” He answered, running his fingers over the woven length of the pattern she’d completed, his bright eyes shining as they inspected her work. What he was thinking, she couldn’t tell, but there was the smallest hint of a smile that curved the corner of his mouth. Maggie also couldn’t help but notice he was wearing the scarf she’d made him.

He’d been wearing it almost every time they saw one another. Whether that was by design or simply happenstance, it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“I appreciate it.” She stammered out before rushing inside her dwelling.

_You need to calm down._ She mentally scolded herself as she carefully unwrapped the waxed cloth to inspect the soft lump of goat cheese.

Pinching off a taste, she nibbled it experimentally before sticking the rest in the cold box.

“It’s good.” She announced as she emerged back out into the hot afternoon. “Did you make it yourself?”

“I did. You inspired me.”

“Me?” She echoed.

“Yeah. With you doing all of the textile crafts. It made me wonder what I could do to work with my hands.” He paused, glancing up at her, cracking a wry smile. “So to speak.”

“Well, it’s delicious. You didn’t walk all this way just for that, though, did you?”

“No. I was going to give some to Jelani and Teela as well.” He paused, looking up from the loom to where she stood by the hut’s entrance. “I was wondering if you’d like come over for dinner.”

“We going to watch a movie too?”

“No. Just dinner.” He replied. “I do have like twenty pounds of goat cheese to get rid of.” He added with a small chuckle.

“Well, fortunately for you, I have a number of very excellent recipes from my Abuela that use goat cheese.” She answered, watching as he rose, towering over her as they stood facing each other.

He was so tall. How had she never noticed that before?

“So. Is that a yes?” He ventured, his tone approaching near hesitance.

“Oh. Yes. Of course. Yes. I’d love to. Is there anything I should bring?”

“I have everything covered. It’s been a while since I’d had you over for dinner. So I thought I’d extend the invitation.”

“Will there be dancing?”

_Now, why had she asked that?_

Because it was an excuse for closeness and physical human contact? Because it was fun? Because it had been ages since she’d been dancing and her only willing partner was a guy straight out of 1945? Well... not quite nearly straight out of 1945. He had a bit of mileage on him now, but then again, so did she.

“What did you have in mind? Do you want another chance for me to step on your toes? Or did you want to show me your modern dance steps?”

Maggie laughed. “I could show you. if you’d like, but you won’t like it.”

“What? Are you afraid you’re going to offend my fragile 1940s sensibilities?”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “I’d like to think we’re past that, James Barnes.”

“Oh, using my full name and everything, I see.” He chuckled.

It was a warm, mellow sound, the smile that accompanied it crinkled the corner of his eyes. Again butterflies fluttered in her stomach. “Well. I haven’t started using the full name yet. That’s when you really know you’re in trouble.”

“Is that what your parents did when you were in trouble? Magdalene Ignacia Ramirez?” Bucky asked, his Spanish pronunciation was perfect, down to the slightest roll of the “r” in her last name.

“No. decidedly not.” Maggie winced at how clipped her voice sounded. _It’s not his fault, he doesn’t know._ She reminded herself.

There was a brief pause as Bucky read the terrain. “So, what are you gonna show me, Maggie?” He asked brightly after a moment.

“You really wanna see my outdated hip-hop dance moves?” She asked wryly.

“Can’t be anymore outdated than my Lindy hop.”

“True. You just promise you won’t laugh at me.”

“Hand over heart. I swear.”He said, touching his chest, his expression so earnest that she smiled to put him at ease.

“Okay. Now, mind you, this was back when I was like middle school.” Maggie said, doing her best to keep from blushing at the mere thought of all of the stupid things she’d done as a middle schooler, never mind things that she’d thought were cool. But hey, live and learn, and anyway, it wouldn’t be any more humiliating than being taught to dance by the Wakandans. At the very least, Bucky had a limited frame of reference for what actually constituted good hip-hop dancing.

“You swear you won’t laugh.” Maggie repeated, glancing up at him as she cued up Selena’s “Enamorada De Ti.”

“Yes, I swear,” He repeated, with the faintest tinge of a smile.

“I don’t believe you, but I appreciate it.” She answered, quickly hitting play before she could lose her nerve completely.

The music started, and the muscle memory kicked in. Her footwork was sloppy. That wasn’t surprising. Back when she and her cousins had spent hours in front of the TV screen, rewinding her mother’s VHS tape of Selena’s L.A. Broadway performance over and over to get their moves just right, she’d never been gifted enough to keep up. She wondered vaguely what had ever happened to that worn-out VHS tape, or her mother’s copy of “Selena” that had been watched so many times that she’d broken the VHS player.

Maggie glanced up. Making eye contact with Bucky, she smiled. “You heard of Selena Quintanilla?”

“Some.” He nodded. “Haven’t had a chance to see the movie yet.”

“Well, we’ll have to fix that. Won’t we?” Maggie laughed, exhaling breathlessly.

“I guess we will.” He agreed, returning her smile.

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, she found a patch of loose gravel.

Shifting her weight, she stepped back, and back, until she realized she was falling backward.

One second she was upright, and the next, she was falling backward.

_Do I try to catch myself?_ _Do I just take this as it comes? _She didn’t have time to ponder as she fell back and struck, not the hard ground, but something else. Something somehow worse.

“Oww. Ow. Fuck. Shitty. Shit. Shit. Shit.” She cussed. A burning sensation spreading across her back and into her spine.

_Oh no._

She’d landed _there. _That spot with the strange spiky looking plant. _Great._

“Ramirez, don’t move," Bucky said gravely.

“I’m fine. It’s fine.” Maggie managed even as her voice pitched several octaves. Winching, she struggled up into a standing position. She wasn’t about to let Bucky swoop in like a knight in shining armor. She paused, swaying on the spot. _At least not yet._

“Easy. Easy.” Bucky cautioned. “Let me see how bad it is.” He said as he slowly walked behind her.

Maggie winced again as she heard Bucky inhale sharply. “Your silence is inspiring a sense of overwhelming calm, James Barnes.”

“You have four huge spikes protruding from your back.” He said slowly.

“Yeah? Can we do something about that?” She asked, doing her best to keep the barbs from her voice, considering there were four protruding from her spine.

“Let’s get you inside the hut and on a flat surface so we can talk through options.” He answered, coming back into view. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah. Thankfully.” She nodded. Her head was spinning, as was the ground, but she focused one foot in front of the other, and she made it back to her hut under her own power.

“You’ll have to excuse the mess. The first aid kit is in my satchel.” Maggie mumbled as she laid out on her bed mat and listened as he moved around her. It was better than focusing on her back which stung, and burned, and she clenched her hands into fists to resist the urge to pull out the barbs herself.

“I have some medicated aloe. You can put that on the punctures once you’re removed the barbs. You’ll probably need to cut my shirt up the back to get it off. It’s all in my pack. You can dig through it.” She continued quickly, her voice practically manic.

Bucky hesitated. “Maggie, if you want me to call someone. I understand.”

“I’d honestly much rather have you pull the barbs out and be done with it. I promise I’m okay. I’ll let you know if you’re hurting me too bad.”

“Okay.” He nodded, kneeling down beside her on the floor. “Shirt first. Does your bra have a clasp at the back or the front?”

“It doesn’t have a clasp. You’ll have to cut through it too.” She admitted.

“Good to know. If none of the barbs have hit your back that high, I’ll avoid cutting your bra.”

“Spare me that indignity at the very least.” She chuckled, wincing as she adjusted.

“Can you reach back far enough to move your hair, or should I?”

“I can hold it if you put in my hand.”

Maggie paused as Bucky collected her hair in his hand and gently twisted it at the base of her neck before carefully placing it in her open palm.

“Don’t want to give you an unwanted hair cut.” He commented as he started cutting away the shirt around the barbs.

“Much appreciated.” She paused, listening to the sound of the scissors cutting through the fabric of her shirt. “Well, this is a role reversal for the books.” Maggie murmured.

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

There was a long pause as he continued to work. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“Don’t thank me yet, doll.” He said, sighing heavily as he set the scissors down.

“How bad is it?”

“There are only four, but they’re going to hurt like a mother fucker when I pull them out.”

“I understand.” She answered, managing to stifle a giggle.

“What?”

“I appreciate your very technical use of the term mother-fucker. It’s reassuring.” She answered.

Mercifully he didn’t say anything, more focused on the task before them. “So, do you want me to count off, or do you want me just to pull?”

“Just- FUCK. Jesus shit fuck fuck shit shit shity fuck.” Her voice filled up the small space and likely extended out into the yard before she fell silent, drawing in a quick, sharp breath.

“That’s one," Bucky said dryly. “Here. Take this.” He said, extending one of her thick leather belts to her. “Bite down on it, so you don’t bite through your tongue. I want to work as quickly as possible so that I don’t prolong this any more than necessary. Okay?”

“Okay.” She said, taking the belt, folded it in half, and stuck the edge in her mouth.

“Ready?”

Maggie nodded, biting down hard on the belt, she squeezed her eyes shut and tensed, waiting for the pain. Bucky worked quickly, and each of the barbs came out with a firm and fast tug.

Maggie whimpered between her teeth but otherwise remained silent and immobile. When the last one came out, she exhaled, spitting out the belt, practically panting as she gasped for air.

“You did good," Bucky soothed, setting each of the spikes aside. “How do you feel?”

“Still hurts like a mother fucker, and it burns.” She whined.

“Right. Would you like me to spread some of the medicated aloe on your back?”

“If you think it would help.” She said, wiping away tears that streamed down her face with the back of her hand.

“I do.”

“All right, anything that’ll help.” She said, her eyes water and dripping down her cheeks. 

Listening as he opened the jar and adjusted his position over her, she could hear him hesitate as he leaned over her.

“What? What is it?”

“Nothing.” He answered. “Working out the plan of approach. I’m going to start between your shoulder blades and work outward. Your skin looks pretty inflamed after all of that. Does it itch?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you have broken out into hives.”

“Okay. Then the aloe should help.”

“Are you ready? The Aloe and my hand might be a little cold.” He advised. Again, there was hesitance.

“As I’ll ever be, James Barnes.”

“Here goes.”

The aloe was cold, and it stung and burned against the damaged skin. Maggie winced, and Bucky jerked his hand back. “Sorry.”

“It wasn’t you.” She said.

“Let me know if I need to stop.”

“Absolutely. Please proceed.”

He returned to his work diligently, spreading the medicated gel across her back. Maggie closed her eyes, soaking in the mixture of pleasure and pain, aware of how close he was to her. He smelled vaguely of barnyard, hay, and goats, but there was also mint, and lemon, and herbs likely from whatever it was he’d been cooking. It was overall a pleasant combination, if not a bit strange. His hand was steady as he worked, his touch firm yet cautious...careful...gentle even. She could feel the callouses on his fingers and palm, but Maggie could also feel how he tried to avoid dragging them across her inflamed skin. Bucky paused his hand, resting flat between her shoulder blades. “How does that feel?”

“Good," Maggie nodded, her breath shaking slightly. Her hands gripped the blanket under her. The aloe burned and stung, while also offering a cooling relief. She didn’t want him to stop. The way Bucky’s thumb worked in small circles on her skin, and the soft-touch, gentle and careful, raised goosebumps on her skin.

“Is that still alright, Maggie?” He asked, his voice so soft and low it nearly rumbled.

“Yes. It uh...it feels amazing.” She stammered breathlessly. Maggie could feel a blush rising on her face. _You moron keep it together. _She silently scolded herself. _He’s just doing you a favor._

“You’re so beautiful," Bucky said after a moment, his voice small when he said it.

This gave her pause. What was she supposed to say? Thank you? I know? She’d be cheeky, it was the only way she could possibly face herself after this. “But not a dame?” She raised an eyebrow, her eyes still closed.

“I got in trouble last time I said that.” He chuckled quietly.

Maggie shook her head, laughing to herself, she sighed, savoring the skin to skin contact. “I appreciate your restraint, James Barnes. I’m not sure I could handle that at the moment. Doll? Perhaps. Dame? Definitely not.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind for future reference. Anything else I should be aware of?”

“No. Nothing at the moment.” She winced.

Again his hand paused, this time against the small of her back by her waistband. “You okay?” He asked softly.

“Yeah. All things considered.”

“Okay. You think you’ll be okay if I leave you for a bit?”

“Should be.”

“I’m going to let that soak in before I apply another round.” He said, “I’ll be back to check on you after I’ve delivered the rest of the goat cheese to Jelani and Teela.”

“Sounds good. I’ll just stay right here.”

“That was the plan.” Bucky leaned forward, gently planting a kiss on her neck at the base of her skull. It was no more than a peck, but Maggie could still feel his breath on her skin and the way his lips trembled. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He whispered.

Bucky moved quietly and quickly from the hut, but it was only after he left that Maggie exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She wanted to call him back, wanted to ask him not to stop, to run his fingertips over her skin and through her hair. She wanted him to plant light kisses on her neck and shoulders and back. Wanted to just be able to hold him against her and maintain that skin to skin contact for as long as he’d let her.

_What is wrong with you? Are you seriously so starved for touch that you’re going to get this fired up about it?_

She exhaled, slowly easing her eyes shut. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter one bit, because he didn’t want anything out of her like that.

_He did just kiss you, and you felt comfortable enough around him to ask him to smear aloe gel all over your back. _

Maggie released her grip, exhaling at the warm breeze that blew through the hut, making the gel on her back get colder. She tried not to think of Bucky’s hand, and how warm and gentle it had been on her back as she slowly drifted to sleep.

-

Bucky walked out into the yard, silently cursing himself. Why had he done that? It didn’t make any sense. Why did he just kiss her? Why had he done that?

_It was only a peck on the back of her neck._

And she’d been lying there, half-naked, while he’d spread medicated goo on her back. That was presumptuous and uncalled for and stupid. Very stupid.

Their relationship, their friendship wasn’t like that. She didn’t think of him like that. They were just friends, and they’d just gotten back to being friends and then he’d had to go and ruin it.

Bucky shook his head and started up the hill, his brain still muddled. He didn’t have to figure this out now. He’d go deliver the cheese to Jelani and Teela, and go check on her, confirm dinner. Then maybe, just maybe, they might have a chance to at dinner to settle somethings. Perhaps he’d even express his feelings?

Feelings? Which ones? He felt them. All of them, it seemed like.

How exactly they’d arrived here, or rather how he’d arrived here with these feelings, he didn’t know.

Had it started back when she’d arrived here in Wakanda? Somewhere between their walk through the fairgrounds during the festival and when they’d laid side by side at the planetarium while she’d talked through the different constellations?

Or had it somehow started even earlier than that? When he’d stumbled into her barn back on Last Chance?

Perhaps it had been in the thousands of little moments that they’d experienced together, that made him want more.

What _exactly _more meant, and if Maggie felt the same way, he didn’t know. Particularly after what had happened back in February. Sure, she’d agreed to be his friend, but he could imagine that she would guard her feelings (whatever they may be) from him because of it.

And anyway. She was beautiful and smart and witty and kind, what could she possibly see in the husk of what remained of James Barnes? That was of course before taking into account all that she knew about his life since 1945, and all she’d endured because of him since 2014. By that calculation alone, the numbers were definitely not in his favor.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of beating hooves, and he lept back and out of the path as a pair of horses barreled past him.

“Heyi! White Wolf!”

He stopped and glanced back. Jelani was on one of the horses and was trotting back toward him. “Jelani.” Bucky nodded.

“Did you just leave Magdalen’s house?”

"Yes.”

“Come quickly. We need to know everything.”

_What happened? What's going on?_ He almost said it but stopped himself. He wouldn’t waste valuable time. “She fell on a spike plant, with barbs. Had four of them stuck in her back. I removed them and spread some medicated aloe gel on her back.” Bucky explained quickly.

“Could you show me which plant?”

“Yes.”

“Come with me.” Jelani extended his hand, which Bucky took and found himself hauled bodily onto the back of the horse behind Jelani. “Hold on with your legs and onto me with your arm.” He instructed shortly before nudging the horse into a trot.

Bucky winced but held on. He could’ve run the distance, but Jelani had been so adamant and grave, Bucky knew he couldn’t have refused, even if he wanted to. If time was of the essence, he wasn’t going to waste it by arguing.

When they arrived back at Maggie’s dwelling, Bucky jumped from the horse and charged to the spot where the offending plant was situated. “This one.” He said, pointing at it with his index finger.

“That one?” Jelani echoed.

“Yes.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“Beyond a doubt.”

Wordlessly Jelani removed a knife and hacked away a large chunk of the plant. Spearing it with the point of the blade, rise and walked to the hut, he called out to his wife before entering, leaving Bucky alone in the yard outside.

Should he stay until Jelani and Teela were done? Did they need him? Should he boil water or collect supplies of some kind? Or would they rather he go away and leave them to their work, rather than standing around like a useless appendage? He didn’t know and instead paced the length of the yard a few times as he struggled to catch what was being said inside the hut.

Their voices weren’t panicked. Urgent, yes, but there was nothing in them to suggest that things were going wrong. Or rather, any worse than they already were.

_If anyone can help her, it’s going to be those two._

How had they known something was wrong? What exactly was the nature of her condition? What had the plant done to her that hadn’t been evident when he’d been with her only moments before?

Bucky played and replayed the whole interaction over and over in his head, trying to identify the moment he’d gone wrong. The moment that had caused _this_ situation. Whatever it might be, specifically. It all came back to the moment he started pulling out the barbs. That’s when she’d started breaking out into hives, Now, _why_ had he done that?

Namely, because she’d asked him to. Because he’d wanted to help her. Because it seemed like such a necessary and easy thing he could do for her in the current situation.

_Of course, this has nothing to do with seeing her half-naked and rubbing medicated goo on her back. _The sarcastic, mean little voice in the back of his head chimed in.

Had his desire for closeness and physical intimacy with her put her in mortal danger?

In his mind, that’s what it was sounding and looking like.

_Bucky, you fucking idiot. You should’ve made her call someone. YOU should’ve called someone. You stupid useless idiot man._

He stopped in his pacing, squeezing the bridge of his nose. It didn’t matter. There wasn’t anything he could do for her now, but sit, and wait, and hope for the best.

Bucky turned to the loom situated just outside the door, half a mind to sit and work at it, as she’d been doing when he’d shown up, less than an hour ago. She’d looked so calm and at ease, even with her brow furrowed with concentration as she’d explained the process to him.

Shaking his head, Bucky continued his pacing.

“Calm down White Wolf, before we have resuscitate you as well," Jelani announced as he emerged into the sunshine.

_Resuscitate as well?_ His stomach twisted. “How-” Bucky began before Jelani raised a hand to silence him.

“She’s going to be fine. But, the plant she fell on is tremendously toxic, and the barb only releases its toxin when it’s removed like you did. I’d advise you to take more care.” Jelani said gravely. “This is something that Wakandan children are taught from an early age, which is why I failed to give you and Cowgirl the same stern lesson. The meat of the plant is useful for medicinal purposes, which is why it is not irradiated on sight, but you must be wary of the barbs. In the future, call my wife or me before removing potentially toxic barbs. Ewe?”

“Ewe.” Bucky nodded, feeling like a child being reprimanded by the schoolmaster.

“Ms. Ramirez is going to be fine, and will suffer no ill side effects after she sweats out the remains of the poison.” Jelani clapped him on the back. “Come, let us make some tea while we wait for my wife to finish up. Shouldn’t be too much longer, just cleaning and dressing the puncture sites.” Without another word, Jelani moved past him.

Stoking up the fire, he prepared a bitter herbal brew for them, which they both sipped in silence as they waited.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Teela emerged from the hut. Bucky sprung to his feet, opening his mouth. He stopped, however, as Jelani exchanged a glance with his wife. “She’s fine. Resting now. She’s going to be asleep for a bit, while her body sweats out the toxins. Can you stay with her for the afternoon? I have some other obligations. She is not in any danger, but I would not want her left alone after all of that.”

“Yes. Of course.” Bucky nodded.

“Call me if anything changes. And make sure she drinks plenty of water whenever she does wake.” Teela paused, crossing the yard, extended her wrist to him.

He tapped it with his own, and the kimoyo bracelet buzzed with the transfer of data. “Anything else I need to know? Is she in any pain?”

“No. I’ve given her something for the pain. She will likely be groggy. Be patient with her.”

“Of course.”

“You’re a good man, James Barnes," Teela said, patting him gently on the shoulder.

Bucky had nothing to say and watched as they meandered around the yard. Teela took Maggie’s shovel, scooped out the offending plant out of its spot into a pot, and tucking it under her arm, nodded amicably.

_All of this for a lump of cheese. _“Oh!” He called out, removing the carefully wrapped Parcel from his bag and rushing after the duo.

“Yes? White Wolf? Something else?” They turned to him, and he could feel the heat of a blush rising on his face.

“Goat cheese. I made it. Thought you might enjoy some.” He stammered out.

“Thank you, White Wolf. That is very generous of you.” Teela nodded graciously as she took it from him and slipped it in her satchel. “Take care of Cowgirl, Ewe? I’ll be back to check on her in a bit.”

The duo returned up the hill by foot, leading their horses along the path side by side, leaving bucky once again standing alone in the yard.

Taking a couple of deep breaths, he slowly pulled back the curtain of the hut and peered inside.

The hut was dimly lit, except for the light streaming in from where he stood. Maggie was laid out on her mat still, now on her side. He noted how her chest rose and fell in long slow draws, under the gauzy shirt that Teela had pulled over her head. A blanket was draped over her prone form.

Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead, the hair at her temples and around her hairline already matted and slick. Yet otherwise, she didn’t appear to be in any pain. Her expression was smooth and peaceful, as she lay there resting.

“You’re back already?” She mumbled.

Bucky froze. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t even opened her eyes. Was she supposed to be awake already? Teela said she was supposed to be sleeping. Should he call Teela back? Was something wrong?

_No. Teela said Maggie would be groggy. Take a breath, Barnes, it’s okay. _

“I told you I would be.” He answered, his voiced hushed as he stepped into the hut, couching slightly, so his head didn’t bump the ceiling.

“You should come to bed before you have to leave again.” She reached up, her hand blindly searching for him.

Bucky reached his hand out to take her’s in his but stopped as the realization hit him. _She’s not talking to me._

“Riley?” She mumbled. “Riley, aren’t you coming to bed?”

_Fuck._

He felt as though someone had just punched him in the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs.

Was she dreaming or hallucinating? It didn’t matter. She didn’t know it was _him._ She thought he was someone else. She thought he was her husband. Her _dead_ husband.

What was he supposed to do? She thought he was someone he wasn’t. He couldn’t climb into bed with her, despite her insistence. Should he correct her? Break the spell and bring her back to reality?

_No._

The world had been cruel and unkind to her enough already. Never mind the type of day that she’d had to begin with. If she thought he was Riley, he would let her believe that for now. Because who wouldn’t want to be surrounded by someone they trusted and loved? Particularly when it was someone she knew would take care of her.

“Hmmm?” She slurred. Her eyes still shut, a confused crease had formed on her forehead, between her knit brows.

“I can’t come to bed quite yet. I have some things to take care of.” He answered as he took her searching hand. It clasped around his, squeezing tightly, as if afraid if she let go, she might lose him. Bucky’s stomach twinged at the thought, and he gently lowered her hand to her side, before slipping his hand from her grasp. “Rest easy, Doll. I’ll take care of you while you sleep.” Bucky added. Grabbing up a towel, he dabbed away some of the sweat on her forehead, smoothing the creases and cares that marked her feverish features. “You’re going to be all right.” He soothed.

Maggie nodded, the tension in her expression easing, and she drifted back into a quiet slumber.

Bucky exhaled, glancing around the small space. Maggie’s space. It had been a while since they’d watched a movie at her place, and so seeing the inside of her hut in daylight, never mind at all, was a new experience.

She hadn’t brought much with her, from Juarez. Yet around the hut had been shaped around her, and everything was very uniquely Magdalene Ramirez. Everything was tidy and well ordered. She had some smaller weaving projects she’d finished hanging on the walls. Her clothes were folded and packed away in a small basket, her two pairs of shoes, which consisted of a pair of work boots, and a pair of leather sandals were lined up neatly next to the basket. Another smaller basket was stacked on top and contained brightly colored scarves and accessories that flowed over the side. There were pots and pans and cooking supplies in another corner tucked away with a hot plate and a micro icebox. She’d even set up an ofrenda out of a small wooden table. She’s set up pictures of her family, clients, and Riley. There was even a photograph of her and Becca, which sat a little distance away, included in the Ofrenda, but only just. Nestled amongst the pictures, and mementos was the Lady of Guadalupe statue that had graced her other Ofrenda, back on Last Chance. Her porcelain finished was chipped, and the paint was cracking and falling away, but her expression remained grave as it watched over Maggie’s dwelling. Wrapped around the statue’s clasped hands were a rosary, and a chain with a dog tag attached.

Something in his chest tightened, constricting his lungs a moment, knotting his throat. He didn’t belong in here, in this space, uninvited, with her. It felt wrong that he was occupying this space with her, in this way, without her expressed consent. Particularly when she was unwell, and especially since she thought he was someone else.

He rose and crossed the small space, sitting against the wall opposite her, watching as she drifted off into in a world that Bucky hoped was happier, kinder, and all-around more pleasant than the one he currently occupied.

And to think he’d been contemplating telling her how he felt, less than an hour before. He’d kissed her, and called her beautiful, and they’d been planning on having dinner. Now he wasn’t sure if he could, or even if he should, in the given circumstances. He wasn’t Riley Underdhal. He could never be Riley Underdahl.

Did Maggie want anything out of him? Could she ever want anything of him? Bucky didn’t know.

Adjusting against the wall, he removed his journal from his satchel and turned to an empty page. Gripping the pen, he stared down at the blank page and started to write. Whatever he thought, whatever he felt, it didn’t matter. Not until Maggie was back on her feet and herself again. He would just have to wait until an opportunity arose, and for now, it seemed he had nothing but time.

-

Everything hurt. Her skin, her scalp, her teeth, her fingernails. Everything hurt.

The walls of her hut came swimming into view, and Maggie stayed as still as she could manage as she tried to piece together exactly where she was and exactly how she’d gotten there.

She remembered she’d been weaving, then, of course, Bucky had shown up, there was some goofing around. She’d tripped. Spiky plant. He’d removed the barbs and spread medicated goo on her back. Then he’d left, and she’d fallen asleep. So why did she feel like her head was in a vice, and why was everything spinning?

Maggie closed her eyes, straining to remember. She’d had a conversation with someone.

_Riley. _Her brain kept filling in. _You had a conversation with Riley. _

But that wasn’t right, she knew that wasn’t right. Yet her brain kept supplying her with that conclusion.

_Unless._

Maggie stopped at the sound of someone else in the hut. Opening her eyes, she saw none other than James Barnes, sitting against the wall, eyes closed, head rolling in the telltale sign of nodding off.

_Oh no. Oh, no, no-no-no._

_Fuck._

_What the hell happened?_

She didn’t know, but she had the sinking suspicion that she _had _held a conversation with someone that she’d _thought _was Riley and that the most likely candidate was the super soldier dozing a few feet away.

_Fuck. _

Slowly lifting herself into a sitting position, Maggie hissed through her teeth as her body protested.

“Hey. Hey, take it easy.” Bucky’s voice washed over her, and she looked up to find that while he’d been fast asleep only moments before, he was now awake and alert his eyes bright and attentive as he assessed the situation. “You’re sleeping off some serious stuff, doll.”

Maggie focused in on his expression, trying to read it through the blurry haze that enveloped her. He _didn’t _look upset or put out. The fact that he was here at all was indicative that at the very least she hadn’t said anything too unforgivable.

‘Sleeping off some serious stuff.’ Now that was a clue about what had happened but didn’t give her much to go on.

So in the face of a massive full-body headache and little to go on, Maggie proceeded with the unoriginal. “What happened?” She croaked, her voice dry and crackling.

“Spiky plant was poisonous, you went into anaphylactic shock, and Teela and Jelani had to come to resuscitate you and administer an antidote. You’ve been sweating out the poison residuals for about the last six hours.” He explained slowly as he poured water into a cup before extending it to her.

Well, that was certainly one hell of an explanation. Though what was of more interest to Maggie was that while his tone was casual, each of his movements was deliberate and intentional as if his brain was having to command each of them one by one.

“Thank you.” She murmured as she took the cup from him with both hands and took a long draw.

So. She’d been incapacitated by her own clumsiness. It wasn’t entirely unheard of, though this was one for the record books as far as the sheer amount of damage inflicted on her and everyone in a fifteen-mile radius it seemed. Yet, it still didn’t explain why Bucky was still here.

“Are you hungry at all?” Bucky asked. His was tone gentle, but all business, with no hint of the tenderness in his voice that had been there only hours before.

“I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“Teela came by about two hours ago to check on you. She brought some food from your weaving group. They wish you a speedy recovery,” He explained.

So the whole village knew. How long would it take for word to get to the Royal Family, and then to Sam? It didn’t bear thinking about, never mind when her head was pounding like this as it was. “That was very kind of them.” Maggie managed, taking another sip from her cup, still trying to quench her parched throat and buy herself a bit more time to get her bearings.

The world still felt like it was spinning. Bucky remained silent, sitting cross-legged only a few feet away, his eyes down, fingers pulling at a frayed patch on his pants.

She should say something. Anything. Just so she could fill the silence that filled the hut and threatened to consume her alive. “Thank you for staying with me. I appreciate it tremendously. I am sorry for fucking up your other plans for the day.” Maggie mumbled after a moment. It was the best she could come up with.

Bucky nodded, looking up at her to meet her gaze. “I figured it would be pretty rude of me to stand up my dinner date when they’re feeling unwell.” He cracked a small, hesitant smile.

“Very courteous of you, Bucky Barnes.” She returned the smile. “I wouldn’t mind a little something to eat. Provided you eat with me. Eating alone is terrible when you’re not feeling well.”

“Agreed.” He rose cautiously, ducking so he didn’t hit his head. “I’ve left it warming on the coals outside. I’ll be right back.”

Maggie nodded, and he disappeared from sight a moment before returning with the meal container carefully held with a dishrag.

“Don’t. You’re okay. I got you.” His voice wasn’t harsh, but the force that he spoke with surprised Maggie. It strong, commanding, reassuring.

Had he used this voice before on someone else? Steve? Natasha? The number of others that had likely been before life had taken him on a different route.

Maggie sat quietly, watching as he laid out and served the food that had been brought. It was a chicken stew, a Wakandan chicken noodle soup equivalent with fresh vegetables, a grain, and hearty broth.

“Not quite your green chili stew. But it’ll certainly do in a pinch.” Bucky commented as he passed her a bowl. “Would you like more water?”

“Yeah. Sure. Please. Thank you.” She managed, blinking slowly, still feeling groggy and off-balance.

She still couldn’t get a good read on Bucky. Had she called him Riley? God, the very thought made her wanna die. What must he think?

Maggie wanted to ask, but how, exactly, she didn’t know. It wasn’t an easy subject to broach, and she couldn’t exactly imagine a scenario where that would be a painless and easy conversation. Opening with, ‘hey, did I accidentally think you were my dead husband while I was delirious from a plant poison I almost died from? Sorry. He’s been dead almost six years, you’d think I’d be over it by now, don’t you think?’ didn’t seem like it would be productive.

Did it bother him? Or could he not care less?

It wasn’t the kind of conversation she wanted to have, not right now when her head was pounding. She also wasn’t sure if she was still sweating out the toxins from the plant or if the pounding of her heart was the thought of how Bucky’s hand had felt on the small of her back, or the way his lips had quivered on her neck.

_ Oh, God._

She hoped the floor opened and swallowed her whole. Certainly, he had to feel something toward her other than casual friendship? Otherwise, he wouldn’t have done that, right? The logical next question was, had she blown her chance by calling him Riley? That certainly could be a wet blanket on any sort of romantic feelings, if the person you’re interested in still isn’t over their last relationship.

_Certainly, he’d understand that this isn’t just an ex. This is an entirely different circumstance. Right?_

“You okay there?’

“Huh?” She looked up and realized her spoon had slipped from her hand and dropped back into the bowl mid-journey between the bowl and her mouth. “I...uhh....” Maggie could feel tears welling just behind her eyes, mounting pressure until she was sure her head was going to explode if she didn’t let at least some of them escape. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m, I think I should. I mean. I think I need to drink a bit more water and go back to sleep.” She stopped as she felt hot tears start to slip down her cheeks. “Fuck. Sorry.” She sniffled, wiping at them with her hand.

“You’ve had one hell of a day, Maggie. Give me your bowl, I can fill up your water cup and clean up dinner and put it away for you so you can get some rest.” He said, extending his hand across the space to her, he took her bowl without waiting for a response, likewise filling her cup before she could manage to string together words.

"You’re leaving?” Her voice was so soft and almost a squeak that Maggie wouldn’t have been surprised if Bucky hadn’t heard her at all.

A surge of icy, raw terror raced up her spine and choked her lungs at the very thought being left along. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was feeling crappy, because she’d slipped into anaphylaxis the last time she’d been left alone, or that she really was feeling that vulnerable, but the idea of being alone made her want to crawl out of her skin.

“Do you want me to stay?” He asked, his voice so delicate that Maggie was sure she could have broken the sound if she’d shouted out _YES!_

Instead, she nodded, before wiping again at the tears that slipped down her cheeks.

_Why are you being so stupid?_

“I don’t want to put you out any more than I already have.” She mumbled, staring down into her glass.

“Someone has to make sure you actually rest, rather than get out of bed and try to do something stupid.” He answered with a small chuckle.

“Stupider than falling on a poisonous spiky plant?” She supplied.

“To that, we’re both the guilty parties. I’m sorry that you’re the one suffering because of it.” Bucky replied as he finished packing away dinner. He situated himself back down on the floor beside her. “Try to drink some more water before you go back to sleep. Your body needs to hydrate.”

Maggie nodded obligingly and drained her cup, and she could feel as the water settled like a rock in her mostly empty stomach. Her limbs suddenly felt heavy, and her eyelids began to droop.

She wanted to fight it, wanted to hold off sleep just a little bit longer, but it was a losing battle. “You‘ll stay until morning, right, Bucky?”

“Of course, doll, if that’s what you want me to do.”

Maggie bobbed her head up and down, feeling like more a sick child rather than an only somewhat poisoned, fully grown adult. If Bucky minded, his expression didn’t say, and for that, Maggie was tremendously grateful.

“Com’ on, you’re fading fast. Let’s get you back to bed and comfortable so you can rest, and your body can heal.”

Too exhausted at this point to argue, she handed him the cup, before adjusting her cushion and the blanket that had been wrapped around her and settled back onto a position she could conceivably sleep in.

Maggie froze at the sound of Bucky adjusting position, and she glanced over at him. “You promise you won’t leave?”

“I promise I won’t leave.” He answered, in a tone that Maggie found both reassuring and soothing.

Closing her eyes and settling under the blanket, she heard Bucky move around her, gently pulling the blanket up and over her shoulders and smoothing it over her arm. “Thank you, Bucky Barnes.” She mumbled.

“Of course, Maggie. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right here.”

Maggie wanted him to climb under the blanket with her, wanted to be held, wanted to have him stroke her hair and whisper in soothing, warm, reassuring tones that she wasn’t a moron, that she hadn’t completely screwed up, that things were, in fact, going to be okay. But she couldn’t ask that of him, not right now. Eventually, perhaps, but now wasn’t the time nor place to make such a request.

Instead, Maggie settled further into the blanket until the edges were around her ears and focused on her breathing. Doing her best not to think of the man, sitting only a few feet away, watching her as she slowly slipped back into the inky void of restless slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! Thank you so much for your patience! Things will be a little slow. Hopefully, I can get the next chapter whipped into shape by next week! If not, it'll happen when it happens.
> 
> A Quick Note about the chapter: Jelani and Teela were alerted through Maggie's Kimoyo bracelet that she'd gone into anaphylactic shock, and the bracelet had basically issued an epi-pen type injection to keep her stabilized and then called Tee and Jelani who are able to do medical things. (I didn't think that info would really make or break the chapter, but to avoid too many questions or too much confusion that's my thoughts on that!)
> 
> Subscribe, leave Kudos, and comments are always welcome and appreciated!
> 
> Until Next Time! Happy Reading!


	16. Wakandan Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> CW: light sexual content.
> 
> Recommended Listening: Spendin’ All my Rainy Days with You by Glenn Crytzer’s Savoy Seven; The Nearness of You by Glenn Miller; Don’t Let Go by Bryan Adams (not on Spotify); Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/1253302637/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=39ErN-iRSy6hVQCV-W71cQ

When Maggie woke up the following morning, Bucky made her breakfast and had lingered around long enough for Teela to show up to give a clean bill of health before he’d departed without saying much of anything.

Jelani gave her the rest of the week off, and Maggie then spent the next week and a half being given a Wakandan Flora and Fauna 101 lessons by Teela, Jelani, Sisay, and anyone else in the vicinity when they stopped by to ask after her health.

Maggie texted Bucky once to thank him for looking after her, but they didn’t reschedule the dinner she’d ruined or make any further plans to hang out or watch a movie.

_He’s probably busy. _Maggie told herself. Yet as she gained some clarity about what had happened, the more she felt in the pit of her stomach that Bucky was avoiding her.

He’d kissed her (albeit on the back of the neck) and called her beautiful, and then shortly after that, she’d called him Riley. It had been a confusing and horrible day, and while she hadn’t been poisoned by any plants likely to send her into anaphylactic shock recently, the days since then had been abundantly more confusing than before the whole incident.

She’d thought about messaging him, about reaching out, about asking to meet, but had thus far been unable to overcome the barrage of mental hurdles preventing her from doing so, the most obvious of which haunted her. What would she even say?

_Can we chat? _That would raise alarms.

_Hey, what are you up to?_ It would seem odd, if not a bit _too _familiar, in the given circumstances.

_Heeyyyy, Can we talk about the fact that I momentarily thought you were my dead husband while I was in a post-shock haze? _While certainly to the point, it would not be the best way to broach that particular conversation.

Maggie found that whatever she typed out, or practiced in her head, it all came back to the fact that she was going to have to talk to him about the fact that there were complicated feelings involved.

She liked Bucky Barnes, as a person, yes. He was funny, and smart, and sarcastic, and a huge nerd when you managed to coax it out of him. He was also gentle and soft, and sweet, and unbearably tender. It also helped that he was easy on the eyes. So yes, she enjoyed his company while simultaneously being attracted to him.

But that wasn’t entirely new. She’d had a girlish crush on him back when she’d spent her days lazing around on Becca’s couch, listening to stories about what a wonderful human being he was.

_And then you spent almost a solid two years hating his guts or trying to be indifferent._

So that was certainly a complicated set of emotions. Was she attracted to Bucky Barnes, the man she knew? Or was she attracted to the idea of Bucky Barnes that had been lab-grown in her head though adequate supplies of idealized memories? It was something she’d been trying to sort through, with marginal success. This was, of course, on top of the fact that she’d called him Riley, which was nothing short of a wet blanket on any potential of a spark between them. The only real solution was to have a conversation and see where they stood before anything further could be said, therein lay the problem. Having a candid conversation was more complicated than it sounded, especially when it was someone you were potentially having romantic feelings about.

_You were a goddamn therapist, Mags?!??! How is this so hard?_

It had been others' feelings and emotions and overcoming past traumas. She hadn’t been dealing with her own issues. She _still_ hadn’t dealt with her own issues. But the issue at hand was Bucky _really_ didn’t need to deal with her baggage when he had plenty of baggage of his own.

_So what are you going to do? Continued to pretend that everything is fine and that you’re still the same person you were back when Riley died?_

She could remember the conversation with Sam, back in the Argentinian rainforest, outside of the defunct hydra base. Sam had told her then that Barnes wasn’t going to solve her problems, wasn’t going to make anything go away. And to his credit, he hadn’t been wrong. Finding Bucky Barnes hadn’t solved anything. It had created more problems. Furthermore, it had just been a distraction from her working on herself. So now, here she was, in Wakanda. Sort of shuffling along. Trying to figure out how to make interpersonal relationships with someone she was attracted to work when she herself had no idea who the hell she was, what she wanted out of life, or where she was going.

So far as she knew, she was stuck here indefinitely and would likely live, grow old, and die in this place. What did that mean? What did that mean for friendships, for relationships, with people on the outside like Sam, Steve, Natasha, with the Wakandans, and of course with none another than James Barnes?

If she somehow messed this up now, she was going to spend a long time avoiding painful and awkward interactions, conceivably for the rest of her natural, or unnatural, life.

Around and around and around she went, mulling the issue, and the various sub-issues, over and over in her head as she worked at her loom.

“You’re almost ready to tie off, aren’t you?”

“Huh?” Maggie looked up to see Teela standing over her shoulder.

“Tie off, Cowgirl. Your blanket is almost bursting from the loom.”

“Oh.” Maggie glanced back at the massive loom laid before her, then back at Teela and then back at her loom again.“Yes. I suppose I am.”

“You have not been yourself lately, is everything all right?” Teela inquired as she sunk on the ground beside her.

Maggie returned her gaze to the other woman, at how careworn and concerned her expression was. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been sighing heavily all afternoon, and have kept to yourself for the better part of a week and a half.”

“Well, almost dying does take it out of you.” Maggie managed a half-hearted smile._ Was it that obvious? Have I been that noticeably lovesick and forlorn that Bucky hasn’t texted me?_

That was unfair; she wasn’t _lovesick_ or rather wasn’t _only _lovesick. She was having a bit of an existential crisis as to what she wanted and who she was a human being, now that all trappings of her previous life were more or less in the garbage and she was stranded in the middle of nowhere with the object of both affection and previous ire.

“Indeed.” Teela agreed. “Come now. Let’s get you started on tying off your first big project."

Maggie listened as Teela explained the method for removing the blanket from its loom and finishing the edges. It wasn’t a complicated process, and she’d completed the process on other smaller items before. However, this was different. This was several months of work that was culminating in this moment of was she going to fuck up the last step.

She could feel the tension as they both held one collective breath while she worked. Then, unceremoniously the moment passed, and they both breathed easy as Maggie held the whole completed blanket in both hands.

“And. Done.” She announced, surveying her work.

For being a beginner, and for seriously doubting her ability every step of the way, Maggie was quite pleased with how the blanket had turned out. She’d worked the pattern in a bright array of blues and reds, with colors so dark and saturated they looked almost purple and so pale they very nearly looked white. And although Teela had encouraged her to incorporate the Wakandan plains Tribe pattern and color scheme, Maggie had forgone working in anything resembling the Traditional Wakandan patterns or colors. While she did live and work in the Plains of Wakandan and was therefore entitled to use and wear its patterns and colors, Maggie had instead utilized patterns and colors closer to those that she’d remembered seeing in Navajo and Mexican blankets from her childhood.

“You did a wonderful job, my dear.” Teela pat her on the shoulders as she took the blanket in hand. “You should be very proud.”

“Thank you.”

“Your pattern and tension are very even.”

“Well, I had a wonderful teacher,” Maggie answered, doing her best not to blush at the attention and affirmation. 

“For your next project, you should try fabric next time. An even weave. Something thinner and finer.”

“You think I’m ready for that?”

“There are few who are truly ready for most of life’s challenges, Cowgirl. You’ll only learn if you try.” Teela said, pausing as Maggie’s Komoyo bracelet buzzed.

It buzzed once, and then twice, and then a third time. As the third successive text buzzed, a silence dropped over them, the entire jungle going silent. A knowing expression passed over Teela’s expression before Maggie looked down at who was texting her. 

Not that she needed to look. Maggie knew who it was before she even looked down. It would be Bucky. He was the only one who ever texted her. That aside, anyone who might need to get in contact with her was well within walking distance or would send envoys if they needed to get ahold of her.

She knew it, and apparently, Tee did as well. When the komoyo bead buzzed a fourth time, she cleared her throat and arched a graceful eyebrow. “Are you going to answer that, or are you going to leave the poor man in suspense.”

Maggie lowered her gaze to her wrist at the illuminated komoyo bead, which flashed a bright blue, doing her best to ignore the flush rising on her cheeks.

Opening the text, it read:

_Hi. Was wondering what you were up to this evening. _

_ Sorry I haven_ _’t a chance to reach out. We should chat._

_ Wanted to know if you_ _’d like to have dinner with me._

_ You don_ _’t have to bring anything. Just let me know._

Maggie paused, reading through the text messages two or three times as she tried to read between the lines of what Bucky _wasn’t_ saying.

_Poor guy sounds about as manic as I feel about the whole thing._

Maggie glanced up at Teela, who was watching her out of the corner of her eye. “You should say yes.”

“I was getting there.” Maggie sighed, rubbing her face with both hands.

“Do you know what you’re going to wear.”

“Tee!” Maggie protested. “Really?”

“Magdalene Ramirez, you both haven’t been right since your accident. Circling each other like a bad mating display, and pouting. The sooner you talk about whatever it is that is bothering you, the better.”

“Okay! Okay! I’m answering the text!” she threw her hands up in surrender, before quickly responding._ ‘Sounds good. Your place? Usual time?’_

Bucky quickly responded with, _‘10-4, see you then.’_

Maggie shook her head, frowning. “And what do you mean, ‘bad mating display?’ Barnes and I aren’t a-a-” She stammered, looking for the right word. “A _Thing!” _She managed lamely.

“I have been married for close to thirty years. I know a lovesick man when I see one. Now come on. Enough with the weaving, we’re going to find you something to wear, and figure out what to do with that mess of hair of yours.” Tee said, taking her by the hand led her away from where they’d been weaving and over toward their family dwelling.

“Tee you don-” Maggie stopped as Teela shot her a ‘look.’

“Come come now, don’t you want to be made up like Pretty Woman?”

“I suppose that there is likely a Wakandan equivalent.”

“Yes. I’ll have to show it to you sometime. But first, we have to find you something to wear.”

Maggie knew it was of no use, Teela would not relent, but that was probably for the better. What else was she going to do? Go home, pace, and panic until it was time to walk over? Yeah, probably, that sounded about right.

So she was going to dinner with James Barnes, and they were going to talk. It was the apparent solution to their predicament.

How it was all going to end, she couldn’t possibly say, but with Teela’s direction, she was going to go to dinner looking her best. This hopefully would give her the confidence and nerve enough to say what she wanted to say to him, and all she could hope for is that Bucky would listen and that they’d be able to move forward. What she wanted to say she hadn’t quite decided.

-

So Maggie was coming over for dinner.

Bucky could feel the knot in his chest tighten as the hour approached. He honestly hadn’t expected her to answer or that if she did respond, it would be to decline.

Only she hadn’t, and now she was coming over to talk.

He hadn’t been prepared for that. He’d been so focused on the idea that she was going to say no, he hadn’t planned for what he would say should she agree to come over for dinner.

_Some master assassin you are._

In his defense, there was a big difference between planning a covert operation to assassinate someone and trying to discuss your feelings with another live human being.

He couldn’t get that day out of his head. He’d replayed it over and over and over in his mind. She’d been so beautiful, at ease and at home with herself, even when she’d been somewhat shy and embarrassed about her dancing.

Then after she’d fallen, she’d maintained her calm, hadn’t cried, hadn’t whined, had been steady and sure.

And he’d stood over her, at her back while she was prone and defenseless, and she’d trusted him. Trust him to help her, trusted him not to hurt her, or hurt her any more than she was already hurting.

It had been a beautiful act of trust, that he’d then betrayed by kissing her and telling her that she was beautiful while she was vulnerable and in no condition to refuse his advances.

She’d rolled with the punches, of course, and had chuckled and laughed and been sarcastic to defuse the situation. He hadn’t been lying he did think she was beautiful, how could he not? It was just that it had been the wrong place, wrong time, wrong situation.

This had further escalated with what had happened, and he hadn’t been able to regain any nerve to talk with her about what had happened. After all, what was there to say? _I made an ass out of myself, and then while you were in a drug-induced post anaphylactic shock haze, you thought it was your dead husband, sorry about that._

It was a lot to parse through, and he’d finally managed to bring it up in therapy a few days ago, where the obvious solution had presented itself: communication.

_You’re not going to know what she’s thinking until you ask her. _His therapist had coaxed. _The best thing you can do is give her an open invitation to talk, privately where you won’t be interrupted, but where she won’t feel unsafe or trapped._

He’d belabored over that last bit. Someplace where she won’t feel unsafe or trapped? She was trapped here in Wakanda because of him. She’d been in various hazardous situations and positions because of him. There was very little about him that didn’t scream unsafe and trapped. But, he’d reminded himself, they had made plans to have dinner before the unfortunate incident, and by extending the invite to dinner for them to talk. He was allowing her to call the shots, while simultaneously making his intentions clear.

His therapist would be proud when he told her he’d finally managed the courage to text her. She’d also be pleased to hear that Maggie had accepted his invitation and that they were going to talk.

Only now, he had to figure out what he wanted to say.

He wanted to apologize, first and foremost, for his actions, for being too forward, for putting her in an awkward position. Yet, at the same time, he also wanted to tell her that he cared for her as a friend but perhaps as something more. It seemed that they were two very different objectives that were mutually exclusive at the moment.

The second objective would be contingent upon how the first.

Bucky paused at the sound of steam hissing from the covered pan over the fire. _Right, dinner_. He had to keep focused. The entire evening, and it’s ultimate success or failure, hinged upon no one getting hurt, which would be a miracle at the going rate that they both managed to sustain injuries. 

They were going to have goat and vegetables with rice cooked with a bone broth that Omondi had taught him how to make. It was a simple dish, but after Maggie had responded positively to his text, Bucky knew he’d have to keep it simple to avoid messing it up.

It was a tried and true recipe, and it was delicious. He’d also cut up fruit and put it in the cooler to chill for something to eat after dinner.

_If we get that far, she might not even stay through dinner._

It was an intrusive and horrible thought, but he couldn’t help but return to the possibility that this might be the end of their friendship.

_She wanted you to stay after she woke up. She wanted you to stay with her so she wouldn’t be alone, she can’t hate you._ The inner voice of reason attempted to soothe. Yet, the larger stupider, more anxious, part of his brain was convinced that she hated him and was only doing this as a courtesy, out of some kind of obligation to him.

Bucky was dragged from his thoughts back into the present at the sound of footsteps coming in the distance, and he turned to see Maggie approaching.

He was caught first by the bangles on her wrist and ankles, which clanked and jingled with every movement. There were little bells on the sash which was woven with silver and gold, and he suspected Vibranium fibers. She had tied it around her waist, accentuating her hips. Her dress was a deep, nearly blood, red silk and fell around her knees, allowing her to feature her toned and shapely calves. The dress itself was relatively loose-fitting, but the neckline was twisted into a halter, hugging her breasts and leaving her shoulders, arms, and upper back bare. Her long dark hair had been left mostly down and fell in gentle curls around her waist, but it was braided and adorned with gold and silver beads around her temples and pulled back to keep the long locks out of her face. Her expression was even and still, her eyes scanning the landscape around her as she approached. Whether or not she knew he was watching her, Bucky didn’t know. He did know that whatever it was he’d planned to say to her had flown entirely out the window and that he was _severely _underdressed. He’d taken the time to clean up, of course. Everything was freshly laundered, and he’d showered, but compared to her, he looked like a homeless bum.

“I apologize for being overdressed. Teela found out we were having dinner and demanded to give me a makeover,” She explained as she approached the fire pit, adjusting her bag over her shoulder.

What was he supposed to say to that? “You- you- look beautiful.” He stammered out, his mouth acting almost wholly separate from his brain. “If I’d know...I would’ve...I mean- I could’ve cleaned up a bit more.”

“Thank you, Bucky. I wouldn’t inflict that upon you, but appreciate the offer of solidarity.”

“Of course. Any time.” He nodded, watching as she moved into the firelight, and around to where he was setting up for dinner.

“If I'm honest, I feel a little ridiculous.”

_You don’t look ridiculous. _He didn’t say it. He knew he probably should’ve, but he needed to prove, at least to himself, that he could filter his thoughts and control what passed between his brain and his mouth if tonight was going to be at all successful.

“So. What needs to get done?” Maggie said as she moved to the little table, which was set with two place settings, ready and waiting for them to eat.

“Everything’s ready if you want to grab the water pitcher, and serving utensils, I’m ready to remove the pan from the fire.” He explained quickly.

“Sounds good. It smells amazing.” She set her bag down and retrieved the requested items, moving with ease and confidence.

She did look beautiful, though he could now see Teela’s hand in how she’d been styled as Maggie kept pushing hair out of her face, and back over her shoulders, wafting even more of her perfume around her.

He removed the pan from the fire and set it down in the center of the table, Maggie filling the cups with water, and adjusting the serving implements before sinking onto the squat stool across the table from him.

“Please, help yourself.” Bucky coaxed, removing the lid, the aroma of goat, root vegetables, and rice billowing around them with a puff of steam.

“Hmmm, absolutely. You’re going to have to share your recipe with me.” She murmured, as she loaded a serving onto her dish before passing the serving spoon to him.

“It’s not too difficult. The most complicated part is the bone broth.”

“Another one of your culinary adventures?” She inquired, blowing gently at a spoonful of the rice, meat, vegetable combo.

“Omondi thought it would be good for me to learn to use all of the parts of a goat.” He answered.

“Well, if you need recipes, I know several. My grandfather had a herd of goats for a brief spell, so for a while, we ate a lot of goat and goat products.”

“Your grandfather kept goats?”

“For a bit.” She took a bite, chewing and swallowing, she met his gaze and smiled. “It’s good. Really good.”

“I’m glad you like it. I figured I had promised you dinner.”

“You did. Are you still trying to get rid of twenty pounds of goat cheese?”

“No. I did manage to work through a fair bit, and gave a lot of it away.”

“Cheese and crackers are always a good way to get rid of cheese. Although I’ll admit, there wasn’t a cheese I’ve ever met that I didn’t like.”

“So, you liked the cheese I gave you.”

“I did.”

There was a pause as they both ate, the sounds of night easing in around them, the crackling fire, the chirping insects, the sound of the wind in the grass, and the trees. The gentle breeze stirred the air around them, raising fine goosebumps on his skin, and Bucky couldn’t help but notice goosebumps up and down her bare arms as well, raising all of the fine dark little hairs.

“Should’ve brought a wrap, it’s a little chilly.” She murmured, rubbing her arms with her hands.

“A bit. Maybe that should be your next project.” He supplied, he hoped, in a way that was helpful and pleasant. Though, at the moment, he couldn’t be sure.

“Perhaps.” Maggie nodded.

“How’s your weaving going?”

“I finished the blanket today. Would you like to see?”

“Sure.”

Pulling her bag to her, she undid the flap and removed the blanket. “I was finishing it this afternoon when you texted.”

“Is that how Teela found out about dinner?”

“Yeah. She told me not to leave you hanging. She was very adamant.”

“I appreciate her persistence, but I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated to come to dinner with me.” He managed.

“Not at all. I was glad you texted. I’d meant to text you to see if you wanted to chat too. It just didn’t ever seem like the right time.” She replied. Pausing, she extended the blanket to him. “But yeah. I finished my blanket.”

“It’s beautiful,” Bucky said. Taking the blanket from her, he spread it out across his lap and ran his fingers over the patterns.

So she’d been meaning to text him too so that they could chat. He wasn’t sure if he could be feeling relief or panic, but she didn’t _seem_ like she was angry, or upset, or waiting to drop bad news.

“So. Do we wanna do dishes before we talk about what we’re gonna talk about? Or will that give us more time to chicken out?” She asked after a moment of silence.

Bucky faltered, his fingers stopping in their exploration of the blanket she’d woven.

_So this was it, this was how they arrived at the _‘let’s chat’ _portion of the evening. _

Bucky should’ve known it was coming, should’ve been prepared, should’ve been ready, and yet here they were as a momentary icy chill of panic washed over him. Yet she was so calm, so casual, so at ease, like it had been an inquiry about his preferred flavor of ice cream rather than, “do you wanna have a painful conversation now or later?”

“I don’t see why we couldn’t do both at the same time.”

“That seems sensible.” She agreed. “I’ll wash, you dry and put away?”

“Sounds reasonable.” He nodded, carefully folding the blanket and extending it back toward her.

“You can set it on the log for now.” She said, as she quickly picked up the pan and started scraping the leftovers into a dish for later.

“I can bring our empty plates over too. If you’d like.”

“Sure. It’ll speed things up a bit.”

Bucky collected the dishes and moved to place them in the basin, watching out of the corner of his eye as Maggie gathered up her hair and twisted into a neat little bun at the crown of her head. She approached the basin where he was standing and started pumping warm water from the spigot over the dirty dishes. Plunging both hands into the murky water, she began to scrub at the food, still clinging to the surface of the dish. For a moment, it was just the sounds of the evening, and the gentle splashing of water as they stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder washing and drying plates. Bucky looked over at her, her eyes down and focused on what she was doing before he took a deep breath and began.

“The other day, When I was helping to spread medicated aloe on your back. When I kissed you.” He began haltingly. “I realize that my actions were inappropriate for the situation, and I’m sorry I put you in an uncomfortable situation and overstepped boundaries.” His voice sounded tinny and distant as the words came out of his mouth.

_This is stupid you’re being stupid. She doesn’t want you, why would she ever want you?_

Suddenly there was an anger in his chest accompanied a horrible bitter taste at the back of his throat. Why was this so difficult? Why couldn’t he just come out and say what he was feeling?

There was a brief pause, as she turned a plate over in her hand, and rinsed off some of the remaining suds, before passing the dish off to him to dry. As she did, she put her hand on top of his, staying it in its motion. Her hand was small on his, and her thumb gently stroked the top of his hand. “It wasn’t unwelcome, Bucky. I’m sorry that I was otherwise unable to articulate that.” She removed her hand and returned it to the soapy dishwater.

Bucky stopped and turned his head to look at her squarely. That wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. He could still feel the phantom of sensation where her hand had been resting on his, and he felt weak for even admitting to himself that he wanted to grab her hand and pull her to him just to feel that sensation all over again. “I should’ve asked before I did anything.” He mumbled, drying off the plate, and stacking it with the other.

“Communication and consent are important, particularly in intimate situations.” She agreed with a nod. There was a beat of silence before she proceeded. “Do you regret kissing me?”

It was a serious question, she’d asked it as a serious question, but there was a note of flirtation in her voice that made his stomach flutter.

_Butterflies, really Barnes?_ But he swallowed his pride, and shook his head, “No,” He managed. “I don’t.”

Maggie nodded again, removing the last of the dishes from the water, she wiped her hands on the front of her dress, leaving discolored streaks in the silky fabric. Then she turned to face him squarely. “Would you consider kissing me again?” 

His mouth went dry, his mind racing. “Only if you wanted me to.”

“I do.” She answered quickly, a bright tinge rising on her cheeks as the words escaped her lips. “I mean, if that’s what you wanted to do.” She amended just as quickly.

Bucky nodded slowly as he dried the pan. He did, he did want to kiss her, he wanted to run his hand through her hair, and over her skin, and just be lost in everything she was, yet he hesitated. Uncertain of himself, and the new territory that they both found themselves in. “Why?” It felt stupid as he said it, but Maggie’s expression was so sincere and earnest, he felt safe to ask.

“Because I had a dream that you kissed me on the fire escape at your parent's house in Brooklyn, back when I was searching for you, back before Becca died. I want to know what it feels like to be kissed by a man I care for a whole lot, as compared to a figment of my imagination.”

Bucky did a double-take, opening and closed his mouth. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, that hadn’t been on the list, at all.

“Is that selfish of me to ask of you?”

“You dreamed about me?” He finally managed to stammer out.

“About the idea of you, yes.”

Right. The idea of him. Because they hadn’t known each other then, not like they knew each other now, they hadn’t spent the countless hours together yet, chatting under the shady trees, or watching films in the dark, the trips to the swimming hole, or laying out under the stars real or holographic. They hadn’t had difficult conversations about what they wanted from the other person. Now, here she was admitting that she wanted to know what it felt like to be kissed by him. By the man she cared about. She cared about him, despite everything that had happened to her because of him, and instead because of everything they had discovered about each other since.

“Then let me kiss you.” He replied, a small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “For _scientific _purposes.”

At this, Maggie chuckled, also cracking a smile, dissipating some of the tension that had been growing between them. “All right. For _scientific_ purposes.” She repeated the phrase, chewing on the corner of her mouth. “I think we should sit, though.”

“Right.” Between the height difference and the fact that they both had a bad record of injuring themselves at inopportune moments, sitting seemed like the best course of action should they want to proceed without another call to Teela.

Maggie reached out and took his hand in hers. Leading him over to the bench around the fire where he’d left the blanket folded, she sat down, motioning for Bucky to sit beside her.

Bucky obliged, sinking onto the log, his body turned to face her squarely. “So, how do you want to do this?” He asked, his eyes scanning her expression.

Her expression was calm and smooth, her face looked warm in the fading sun, and from the light, the fire gave off, yet he could see how her pulse raced at her throat. “As naturally as possible, don’t want to skew our data set.” She chuckled weakly as she put her hands on his shoulders at the base of his neck.

“That’s true.” He agreed, cupping her face with his hand and drawing her in closer.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and her chin tilted up, her lips parting slightly, ready to meet his. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat as he took it all in, then leaning in, he kissed her. 

Their lips met, briefly locking. He could feel his breath catch in his chest, his heart pounding in his throat. It was a quick kiss, and they both pulled back after a moment, their faces only inches apart, Maggie’s eyes watched him, as a small, almost satisfied smile twisted playfully at her lips.

“So?” He asked softly, trying to ignore how her hands rested on his shoulders, her thumbs caressing his skin.

“Real Bucky is better than imaginary Bucky, any day.” Her eyes shined bright in the firelight.

“Glad to hear it.” Bucky chuckled, he could feel it vibrate in his chest, and he wondered if she could feel it too.

He felt like a goddamn teenager again, not quite giddy, but everything felt new. He wanted more. He wanted her. He glanced up at her, meeting her expectant gaze. “Should we continue to collect data, or are you satisfied with your findings at present?” He cracked a small, nearly cocky smile.

Maggie’s lips twisted into a small mischievous grin. “Are you saying that we should continue to collect samples for the data set?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Couldn’t hurt.” He replied, his thumb caressing her cheek.

They kissed again, and this time, he was ready for the rush. They kissed deeper than before, her hands moving up toward the base of his skull, her fingers twisting in his hair. They breathed each other in, and Bucky found his hand moving nearly of its own accord as it slid down her neck and shoulder, to her waist, and then to her left leg, deftly pushing back the clingy silk with his fingertips.

Maggie flinched as his fingertips touched the first of the neat little rows of scars on her thigh. Bucky pulled back, “I’m sorry.” He started to pull his hand away, but Maggie caught his wrist before they made eye contact with one another.

“It’s okay. You just startled me is all. That’s sensitive skin, Barnes. Give a gal a little warning next time, alright?” She murmured, gently guiding his hand back toward her thigh, sliding it further up than he’d initially gone.

“Is that okay?” He asked earnestly, maintaining eye contact with her as his thumb caressing the scarred skin.

“Mmmhh, hmmm.” She nodded, biting the corner of her lip. “I’d very much like to continue kissing you, Bucky Barnes. You know, just to make sure we have enough data for analysis.”

“Of course, this after all for _science_.” He breathed, every muscle and fiber aware as she leaned in toward him, drawing herself to him her body flush against his. He could hear every intake of breath, and every ragged exhale, her mouth hot against his. He could smell the lemon and jasmine in her hair and the salt on her skin from the heat and sweat. He could feel the way her hands and fingers roamed, first from the back of his head, to his shoulders, neck, and then chest, practically clinging to him. His hand very carefully stroked her thigh, working up into the skirt, his fingers brushing against her underwear.

They paused only at the sound of thunder, and the sensation of raindrops falling against their skin. “Shit,” Maggie swore, pulling away and disentangling herself from him as the rain pelted down in thick heavy droplets, quickly soaking through their clothes. 

“Let's get inside.” He guided her by the elbow as she clutched her bag and blanket to her.

Retreating inside, they both stood in the doorway a moment, chests heaving as they looked at each other.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” He managed breathlessly, looking at her up and down.

She was soaking wet, water dripping from her dress, clinging to her skin, and weighing down her hair, which had started to slip from its bun. Likewise, he was also soaking wet, water streaming from his hair, and soaking into the floor, squishing in his boots. Although his heart still pounded, and he would like for nothing more than to continue with their _scientific_ experiment, Bucky knew the more prudent thing would be to get her into dry clothes and comfortable to wait out the rain.

“Talk about a wet blanket, huh?” She chuckled, dropping her satchel and blanket on the ground, before reaching for the clasps of her sandals with her right hand, her left hand sticking out as if searching for support.

“Need a hand?” Bucky asked, taking a step toward her, and extending his forearm to her.

“Yeah, you have one to spare?” She replied lightly, as her hand found his arm, and took hold of it firmly.

“Not at the moment, but I think I can let you borrow this one for now.” He answered.

“You’re a doll, Barnes.”

“Doesn’t work for men, Ramirez.” Bucky quipped back.

“So, what would? Should I start referring to you as Old Sport?” Maggie giggled, working the straps of the second sandal.

“While I appreciate the Gatsby reference, I don’t think that would wholly be appropriate either.”

“Well, for one you’re not Nick Carraway, and I’m definitely not Jay Gatsby, which like of all the shit we have going on in our lives, thank god for that, right?”

“Small mercies, huh?”

“Indeed.” She laughed breathlessly, as she staggered, holding onto him even all the tighter.

“You’re good. I got you.” He soothed, as she steadied herself, and glanced up at him, her face rosy with an easy smile on her face.

“This seems to be a reoccurring theme, James Barnes. But it is appreciated none the less.” She turned to face him and went up on her tiptoes and planted a quick peck on his cheek. Then as if realizing what she’d done, she stiffened and turned away, dropping her hand to her side. “Sorry. That was a little presumptuous of me, wasn’t it?” She chuckled weakly, devoid of all the humor it had contained only moments before.

“Hey,” Bucky called, voice so low he wasn’t sure she’d even heard it, but she raised her to look up at him. “I’d like to kiss you again. For real this time.”

“I’d like to kiss you for real too.”

With a simultaneous intake of breath, Maggie rose on her toes, putting her hands on either side of his head, drew them together until their lips met again.

His hand went to the back of her hand, though he was uncertain if he should take her up the waist to close the distance between them, he kissed her back, their lips parting as they deepened each successive kiss.

She went down onto the soles of her feet, nearly knocking them off balance. “Hold on, Doll. Hold on.” He chuckled between kisses, doing his best to steady them both. “Let’s get dry first. Then we can sit, and neither of us has to worry about falling over.”

Maggie paused, an amused expression dancing on her features in the dim light. “Since when did you become the practical one, Barnes?”

“I’ve always been the practical one doll.” He said, kissing the top of her head, his hand still at the back of her head, fingers threaded through her hair, he breathed her in, the smell of lemon and jasmine wafting through the damp smell of the rain.

She chuckled, shaking her head, she put both her hands on his chest, fiddling with the buttons. “Typically, I might protest, but I am the woman that let a strange man sleep in my barn for a week and a half. So, uh, point taken.”

“I’ll take that as a victory.” Bucky moved his hand from the back of her head and ran his fingers along her jaw until he reached her chin. Placing two fingers just under her chin, he carefully lifted her face to him. “But now, dry clothes.”

“Okay. Okay.” Her hands moved to his scarf. “May I?”

“You may.” He nodded, and her hands went to the knot, working the wet mass with her hands, untied and removed the scarf, draping it over a small drying rack.

“And your shirt?”

“You may.” Bucky watched a moment as she carefully worked each button, starting from the top nearest his collar bone down toward his waistband. It was such a simple thing, mundane, in fact, but Bucky couldn’t help but be astounded at the sheer intimacy of such an action. They were so close he could feel her shiver, even as he could feel his body heat radiating off of him. “You must be cold. Let me help you with your dress.” He murmured, leaning in closer to her, his hands moved from the back of her head down to her neck, where a thick knot was tied at the base of her skull.

“Picked up on that, huh?” Maggie chuckled, putting her hands against his bare chest. They were cold, but her breath was warm and seemed to condense against his skin. “I will warn you that there are a couple of very fiddly hooks you’re going to have to contend with.”

“Fiddly.” He echoed with the barest hint of a smile.

“Yes, fiddly.” She said her voice no more than a hum as she reached up and kissed him on the cheek again.

“Well, if you’d stop distracting me doll, I might manage to be more effective.” He grumbled as he fought to work the damp fabric.

“Mmhhh, hmmm.” She answered. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare shirt for me to wear, Bucky Barnes? Or were you going to let me lounge around in my birthday suit while the dress dries?”

“Now who’s being sensible, Maggie Ramirez?”

“I do occasionally have my moments.” She kissed him quickly. “I can get the fiddly hooks, and

knot, while you get some clothes for us.”

“Okay. Okay. Fine.” He leaned down, resting his hand under her chin kissed her deeply.

Maggie chuckled in the kiss, pulling away. “Now who’s distracting whom?”

“You’re just a bad influence.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Yanno, from what I’ve heard about you from Steven and your sister, I’d be inclined to agree. You _are_ the voice of reason.”

“Horrified?” He raised an eyebrow, retracting his hand and stepping away.

“Not sure if I’m more horrified or amused. But the sheer lack of impulse control exhibited by Sam, Steve, and myself means that we need more Bucky Barnes’s in the world.” She said, as her hands went to her neck and started working the knot.

“I appreciate the sentiment doll, but I don’t think anyone could handle more than one of me, particularly me,” Bucky answered, turning away. “But I can get you some dry clothes.” He went to the basket where he stored his clean clothes, searching for something suitable for her to wear.

Glancing into the small shaving mirror he had propped up against the wall, he paused. She’d managed to get the knot untied, and the fiddly hooks unclasped and had peeled off the dress. Her back was to him, but he couldn’t help but admire the line of her figure, from her shoulders, the curve of her waist and her hips, the roundness of her ass, and the firm muscular swell of her thighs and calves.

With a fierce shake of her head, Maggie’s hair slipped from its bun and cascaded down her back, falling to her waist in dark, dense waves, the weight of the water pulling the natural curl from the lengths.

Bucky exhaled a shaking breath and looked away and back down to the task at hand. He had a shirt with both sleeves somewhere that hadn’t had an opportunity to hack off the left sleeve, yet. It would be way too big for her, fitting more like a dress than a shirt, but it would serve its purpose.

He tugged off his shirt and pants, ignoring the massive erection that had resulted from their little “scientific” experiment before pulling on a dry pair of pants and shirt.

Bucky hadn’t experienced a rush like that in quite a while, and while he wouldn’t deny that it had excited him sexually, he was more surprised by how _natural_ everything felt. How familiar it was. As if somehow, this wasn’t the first time they’d done this with each other. What did it mean? What did any of I mean? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he wanted to hold her again, wanted her run her hands over his skin, wanted a chance for the both of them to explore every inch of one another with their fingers and their mouths.

“How’s the shirt comin’, Barnes?”

“Sorry.” He jerked around, shirt in hand, and realized that she’d turned around as well, and they were both facing each other. Bucky froze, unsure if he should look away or avert his eyes.

Maggie stood a moment in the dim light of the hut before him only in her underwear, and exhaled a shaking breath, cracking a small, almost shy smile. “You’re welcome to look, Barnes.”

Now that he wasn’t looking at her through a dirty mirror Bucky took in a whole new depth of her. He could see the curve of her hips, that complimented the roundness of her breasts, further offset by the softness of her stomach. He could see the stretch marks and scars and freckles on her legs, stomach, and chest. And while outside was cold and dark, everything about her was soft and warm, and her brown skin shone almost gold in the lamplight.

“Is that for me?” She inquired, motioning with her chin to the shirt in his hand.

“Fuck. Shit. Yes. I’m so sorry. You’re probably freezing.” He stammered, coming back into the present.

“Somewhat yes, but I’m sure you’ll be able to help remedy that,” Maggie answered graciously, taking the shirt from him, and slipping it on.

Pulling her arms through the sleeves, she rolled the sleeves into tidy cuffs that hung around her forearms before pulling her hair out from the collar and letting it rest on top of the shirt. Then stooping down, she picked up her blanket and smiled. “Waterproof, but breathable.” She explained, before turning up her face to meet his gaze. “Wanna huddle together for warmth?”

“Well, come here then.” He motioned for her to join him as he sunk on the sleeping mat.

Maggie nodded, crossing the hut in two massive steps, first draping the blanket across his shoulders, before sinking onto his lap, their faces only inches apart. “That okay?”

“More than okay.” He answered, his hand went to her face, cupping it only momentarily before it trailed down her neck and brushed the collar of the open shirt, his gaze ventured downward.

“You may.” She answered preemptively, her right hand moving to his. Her finger curled around his wrist, positioning his hand to cup her left breast.

“This is okay, right?” He asked, his gaze locked with hers.

“Mmmh, hmmm.” Maggie nodded, releasing his wrist placed both her hands on his shoulders.

His thumb stroked her breast, playing with her hardened nipple as he watched her expression. Their eyes focused on each other as she moved her hands from his shoulder to his face, her fingers stroking his beard.

How had they gotten here? One minute they’d been confrontational acquaintances, and now this. How could she see anything in him? What could he possibly bring to the table as he was now?

What are you thinking about, Bucky Barnes?” She asked after a moment.

“Thinking about how beautiful you are.” He lied.

Maggie blushed. “You’re not bad yourself, James Barnes.” She said, reaching in to kiss him, her hand slid down under his shirt to the base of his neck. Before their lips could meet, her fingers brushed the seam where flesh met metal on his left shoulder, and unable to stop himself, Bucky flinched away.

“I’m sorry.” They both rushed out, each retracting their hands.

“I should’ve asked.”

“It's not your fault.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“I know it’s off-putting.” He mumbled, his gaze down and away, staring at the floor behind her rather than up into her honest, open expression.

“It’s not.” She said. “May I see your hand, please.”

Bucky glanced up at her and then down at her outstretched open hand before placing his hand in hers.

Moving slowly, she positioned his hand on her thigh, where his fingers brushed the faint white little lines that scarred her skin. “You’re not off-putting, your prosthesis site isn’t off-putting, but I won’t presume to touch any part of you without your consent.” She said. “Just as I would expect the same of you when touching me.” Maggie put her left hand to his cheek, stroking his beard. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No. No. You didn’t. The skin in that area. Well. You know what they did. It doesn’t have much. I mean. I can’t. There isn’t feeling there.” He managed slowly, in short, breathy bursts.

She nodded, disentangling herself, adjusted her position his lap where she was sitting sideways across his folded legs. Turning her torso toward him, both hands cupping his face, Maggie surveyed his expression carefully. “You’ve experienced a lifetime of pain, James Barnes. I wouldn’t want to compound it in any way, shape or form.” 

Bucky nodded in response, and Maggie’s hands moved from his face to the blanket, drawing it in closer around them before resting her head against his chest.

Bucky paused, listening to the slow sound of her breathing, and the dull thud of her heartbeat. He’d ruined it. They’d been having a good time, and then he’d gone and flinched. She hadn’t hurt him. It had been a nearly subconscious response, programming of a different sort that had been ingrained in him over the years: anyone who was going to touch him there intended to hurt him. 

Slowly exhaling, he put his face in her hair, kissing the top of her head, “I ruined the mood, didn’t I?” He murmured.

“If you’re not enjoying yourself, then it’s not a good time for anyone. So no, you didn’t ruin the mood.” She answered.

Bucky didn’t reply. What was there to say that wouldn’t end with him wallowing in a strange kind of shame?

“Would you put your arm around my shoulders? James Barnes?” Maggie inquired, glancing up at him.

“I can.” He said, moving slowly, so he didn’t upset the blanket, or how she was sitting.

“Hmmm.” She sighed, sinking even further against him. “It’s been forever since I’ve been held like this?”

“Since Riley?” The words passed over his lips before he could recall even thinking them.

To her credit, she didn’t freeze, didn’t tense, she just very slowly turned her head and looked up at him. “Yes. And you?”

He frowned, furrowing his brow. That’s not how he’d expected her to respond to his question. What he’d expected, even he didn’t know. He hadn’t even known that the question was going to come out of his mouth.

Maggie sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry I called you Riley the other day. When I was recovering from all of that.” She looked back up at him. “I suppose I could try to spin it that you should be flattered that I thought you were my dead husband, but I don’t think that would be fair, or honest.”

“You don’t have to explain, Maggie.”

“But I’d like to.” She said fervently.

Bucky looked back down at her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were bright, her expression open and honest, and earnest. “Okay.” He said so soft and low, the word came out more like a shape than a sound, but she took his meaning and proceeded.

“I was stuck in a rut for a very _very_ long time. After he died, I just thought that if I could keep everything afloat, if I could keep everything going, could keep the life that we’d had together and that we’d planned together working somehow, that would be okay. I buried my head in the sand, trudged on, damn the consequences.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Even after you stumbled into and then out of my life, with Hydra wreaking their destruction, I was still convinced that somehow finding you would solve my problems. That if I could help bring you in, I’d be able to get back to the Ranch, be able to make things right.” Maggie shook her head, chuckling humorlessly. “As you can tell, that plan worked out swimmingly.” She faltered, chewing on the inside of her mouth a moment before continuing. “But, I guess back to the larger point. I don’t have an explanation for why I called you Riley, other than the fact that he was one of the last romantic relationships I gave a chance to grow. If I'm honest, I haven’t allowed myself to grow as a person since he died. Until you, until now, until Wakanda. And so I’m trying to figure out who I am now, and what that person may want or need or even like in a romantic partner.” Maggie glanced up at him. “If that’s something you’d be interested in exploring, here, with me.”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but promptly closed it when he realized he didn’t know what he wanted to say. Riley was the last romantic partner she had, and now she wanted to take the leap again with him? But she knew what he was, knew all that he was. How could she even contemplate having a relationship with him when she knew how completely and fundamentally fucked up he was? Not just physically, but mentally, psychologically. He was a mess, through and through, and she knew that she’d seen that, she’d been the one to push him to go to therapy, she’d seen all of the horrible shit that Hydra had done to him.

It wasn’t that he thought of himself as unlovable. Certainly, Bucky knew that Steve loved him, and he loved Steve, but Steve had known him before all of this, before the trauma and the pain, and everything that had turned him into what he was now. He could understand how Steve could look past all of that and love him still, perhaps despite all of that. So the notion that someone like Maggie, someone as kind and caring, and forgiving, someone as smart, and funny, and witty, and beautiful as her could want to enter a relationship with _him. _The husk of what James Barnes used to be, was somehow unfathomable.

“I’m not the same man Becca and Steve talked about.” He managed haltingly as if that somehow even began to explain everything he was feeling, everything that was zooming around in his racing mind.

“No.” She agreed.

Bucky tensed, waiting for her to continue and looked down to meet her expectant expression.

“But, believe it or not, you are the man that I’ve grown to know and care for.” She cracked a small hesitant smile. “And I’d argue neither of us are the same people we used to be, and after everything that we’ve both been through, I think that’s okay.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath. “I care for you too, Maggie. And if you want me along for whatever journey you’re taking, I’d be happy to take it with you.”

“I would, James Barnes.”

“Well, then.” Bucky exhaled with a short chuckle, “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys! I hope you enjoyed! And a very happy belated Valentine’s Day! So sorry for the delay in the chapters. It's going to be that way for the next little bit, just IRL stuff that I'm juggling. Never fear, I WILL be updating eventually, it is just going to be slow going. Would love to hear what you think. Until next time, Happy Reading!


	17. Maybe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: My Beloved Monster by Eels; Only Wanna Be With You by Hootie & The Blowfish; Kiss Me by Sixpence none the richer; Hold my Hand by Hootie & The Blowfish.
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=i6QVxM7KQP2COhXP_XQdYg

It was morning, Maggie knew. She knew this because the birds had started to tweet and sing, the sun was beginning to peek through the curtains, and the village outside the door had started to stir. She knew it was about 7:20 am because Bucky had crept out 20 minutes before to get the fire going and start a pot of coffee.

The coffee was nearly done, Maggie could smell the thick, rich scent as it wafted through the open door and over her, and practically hear it bubbling in the percolator over the crackling fire.

Bucky didn’t know she was awake yet, and so she lay there quietly so that he could come in and wake her up with a cup of coffee.

This was their weekend routine or had become their routine over the last month and a half. Since that evening, they’d sort of fallen into it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world as if it was the natural progression of their relationship. It felt like they’d known each other for years rather than the short months that had passed since her arrival in Wakanda in November.

In Maggie’s sort of recollection, they had a strange, quiet, compatibility that made it easy to be around one another. What exactly they were, and what exactly they wanted out of this blossoming romantic relationship, they hadn’t exactly parsed through. Maggie didn’t mind. It was simpler that way. She was a once married widow, and he was a 100-year-old former cyborg-assassin. Labels complicated things, and so they were content just, it seemed, to exist in each other’s world’s and take comfort in the other person’s presence and companionship.

Maggie paused as Bucky entered the hut and set the coffee mug down on a side table before he gently brushed some hair that had fallen over her face behind her ear.

“Hey,” Maggie mumbled as her eyes fluttered open, and she glanced up at him with a sleepy smile.

“Hey.” He echoed, returning the smile. “I made you a cup of coffee and was going to start making breakfast. Anything, in particular, you’re in the mood for today?”

“Mhhhh hmmm.” She shook her head as she stretched before siting into a seated position, allowing their blankets to fall around her waist.

Wordlessly Bucky handed her the mug, and she took an appreciative sipped as he watched. “Good morning.” She said after a moment over the top of the mug.

“Good morning. How’d you sleep, doll?” He answered, leaning in he kissed her forehead, his hand momentarily brushing the back of her head.

“Solidly.” She replied, tilting her chin up, managed to peck him on the cheek as he started to move away again. “Only I’ve been trying to figure out why that particular term of endearment is so strange to me.”

“I can stop if you’d like.” He said apologetically as he settled down in front of her, eyes scanning her with an expression of gentle thoughtfulness.

“I don’t mind _per-say. _I suppose I feel I might be too old to be called a _doll. _Though I hardly think of myself as a _dame,_ either.” She chuckled into the mug as she took another drink. 

“Thirty-two isn’t old.”

“I suppose you’re the resident expert.” Maggie raised an eyebrow.

“I suppose I _am._ But if you don’t want to be called doll, I can certainly find an alternative term of endearment that you prefer.”

“The term most often used by previous partners of mine is Mags, but if calling me doll is a habit you can’t break, I can certainly live with it.” She replied.

“Well. I’ll do my best, Mags.” Bucky murmured as he sat back on his knees and kissed the top of his head. Maggie could feel butterflies in her stomach at the use of the Pet Name. “Unfortunately, I have to get going soon, so I should get started on breakfast.”

The butterflies immediately dissipated as his words registered, their meaning clicking into place in her brain. “Going?” She echoed, looking up at him as he rose to his feet.

“Yeah. I have to go out with my herds today. Tabo and the others had something else going on today.”

_Fuck._ She hadn’t thought about that. Bucky had never mentioned it before this, and it hadn’t dawned on her that the days that he spent with her, he’d had to find someone to look after his goats for him. It wasn’t like with her horses, which Jelani looked after when she wasn’t around.

“Well. Can I go with you?” She asked, standing up.

At this, he frowned, furrowing his brow, knitting his features into a nearly confused expression. “You’d do that?”

“Go with you to the beautiful Wakandan countryside to help you complete a necessary and productive task?”

“Well. When you put it like that.” He said, rubbing his neck, his expression morphing to one of confusion to one of bashful embarrassment. “It’s not very interesting. I don’t want you to be bored.”

“Hardly, James Barnes.” She went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Now. Come on. Let’s make breakfast and pack a lunch so we can get the goats where they need to be,” She said cheerfully, before she took another draw from her mug and headed outside into the breaking light.

Bucky followed behind her, and they moved in perfect harmony around the fire and around each other as they made breakfast and prepared for their day. They didn’t really talk. Not necessarily as a rule, but again something that they’d grown accustomed to since they’d started spending the weekends together. Talking wasn’t necessary, particularly in the early hours, as they started their day. Generally, Bucky waited until after Maggie’s second cup of coffee before engaging in any extensive dialogue. Whether this was a reflection on her, his previous partners' preference, or just a personal habit of his, Maggie didn’t know. Still, it was appreciated because it allowed her brain time to buffer and prepare for the day.

“So you’re sure,” Bucky’s voice punctuated the silence as they dressed.

“You’ve seen what I do here. It only seems fair that I likewise get to see what you do.” Maggie answered lightly as she pulled on her boots.

Standing upright and turning, Maggie approached where Bucky was standing and began buttoning his shirt. “Is that okay?” She inquired, glancing up at him.

His expression was pensive, his gaze far away, passing through her and a thousand miles away. Where he’d gone, Maggie didn’t know but instead rested both hands on his chest, allowing the moment to pass in silence before he shook his head, as if shaking himself back into reality and nodded. “Yeah. That’s fine. I’d just hate to think you’re spending your day off bored.” He said, looking down at her.

“Bored? Hardly! I’d be spending the day with you.” Maggie smiled, patting him amicably on the chest, before taking a step away so he could put on his shoes.

“You underestimate how boring I can be.”

“I dunno. You and I both know what the alternative could be. I, for one, would rather my life be dull and boring in a beautiful, prosperous little nation than anything I’ve dealt with in the last five years.” She shrugged, collecting her bag and blanket, turned to face Bucky again.

“You’re not wrong.” He nodded, glancing her up and down. He already had his scarf on; his satchel slung across his chest. “You ready?”

There was a hesitance still in his voice and in his expression, so Maggie smiled, nodding and took his hand with her left. “Come on, Barnes. Let’s get your goats to pasture.”

They exited the hut and letting go of his hand Maggie allowed him to collect his prod and proceed to the goat pen. The routine for Bucky seemed natural, and Maggie could appreciate the comfort that came from a routine. In no time, they were walking side by side down a goat path, while she had no idea where they were headed the goats, it seemed, knew where headed with little prodding from Bucky.

Bucky the Goat Herder. That was a funny concept. Of all the things she’d heard and seen and read about James Barnes, in all of his lives, and all of the iterations of his existence, his contact with animals had been limited. Yet, from what she could see here, and what she had seen back on Last Chance, he made a quick study and had a natural knack for animal care. Where this had come from, Maggie didn’t know. So far as she was aware, the Barnes Family and the Rogers family, for that matter too, had never had pets, even a house cat.

“When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?” Maggie blurted out.

“Huh?” Bucky did a double-take, cocking his head to the side.

“Sorry.” She blushed, shaking her head.

“No need to apologize. I just didn’t hear you, Mags,” He chuckled.

The way he’d said her name made her chest warm, and a smile spread over her face. “I asked when you were a kid, what did you want to be?”

“Hard imagining me as a goat herder?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow as they continued down the path.

“No. I mean. Yes. I mean, it’s hard to imagine what you wanted to be when you were growing up.” She stammered out.

“Well, for a bit, I wanted to be Zorro.” He said slowly, pausing, he glanced over at her as if expecting her to laugh.

Maggie wanted to laugh. It seemed silly, considering that he did, in fact, become a masked vigilante in the end, but it wasn’t the appropriate time for a giggle. Instead she nodded, silently prompting him to continue.

“I honestly don’t remember what I wanted to be. Though I do know that as I grew up, it became less about what I wanted to be, and more about what I had to do to survive. My parents were factory workers, I worked the docks, and factories, and anything I could find to put bread on the table and keep a roof over my head. _Wants_ didn’t really factor into it.” He shrugged, glancing first at the goats, then back over at her. “Sorry, I know that’s not the answer you were looking for.”

“Honestly, Bucky. I was just curious. I didn’t find out _everything_ about you while you were on the run. There was only so much your sister could tell me.” She said. “Certainly, there’s something you want to know about me that the internet couldn’t provide.”

Bucky tensed, but the tension eased from his shoulders just as quickly as they continued plodding down the path, shoulder to shoulder. “Did you always want to be a therapist?” He inquired after a moment.

“Actually, no. I wanted to be a rodeo star.” Maggie admitted, feeling the tinge of embarrassment as she did. “The therapist part came later after I realized that living and dying on a horse wasn’t something that I particularly wanted to do.”

“Ah.” Bucky nodded knowingly. He paused, looking over at her, and then around. “What event?”

“Barrel racing, probably.” Maggie smiled. “About as realistic as being Zorro. If I'm honest.”

“Not a good barrel racer?”

“The lifestyle isn’t entirely conducive to stability or longevity.” Maggie paused, chewing on the inside of her lip. “But then again, I don’t suppose the last five years should bear testament to anyone’s lifestyle choices and stability.”

At this, Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah. You could say that.”

Maggie sighed softly. This was always a danger with them. Talking about the past was complicated for both of them, and the concept of what was going to happen in the future was uncertain at best. It was easiest to think in terms of the present. Safer, perhaps, than contemplating anything else.

“Sorry.” Bucky offered sheepishly after a moment of silence.

“It’s okay. We’ve had a shitty few years. I think it would be disingenuous to think about them any other way.” She answered, her left hand brushing his right, which was wrapped securely around the goat prod. “Gim’me that.”

“Huh? What? Why?” He stammered, glancing between her, the prod, and the goats who trotted along ahead of them. 

“So I can hold your hand,” Maggie laughed, making the grabby motion with her right hand.

“Okay. Okay.” He chuckled.

There was a quiet moment of shuffling, and then they were walking down the path holding hands, his hand enveloping hers.

The goats knew the way and were in quite the rush to get out to pasture where they could join the other herds for the day. Soon the gently rolling hills opened into a massive pasture where other goats were already grazing contentedly.

There were a few calls from the other goatherds, and Bucky dropped her hand to wave and call in response. “Where do we want to settle?” Maggie asked tentatively as they walked some distance into the field. It was late spring now, and there were still wildflowers left, and she picked a handful as they walked past.

“There’s a spot over by the tree line that gives the best vantage point, good visibility.” He said, motioning with his chin. He paused, eyes scanning her, pausing a moment on the wildflowers she was holding in one hand, and the prod she held in the other. “Come on, let’s get settled in.” He took the prod, allowing her to hold on, they walked single file, with Maggie trailing along after him. “How does this look?” 

“Perfect.” She smiled, and they set about the task of making camp. It really only consisted of laying out a blanket and dropping off their stuff, but Bucky first made sure there weren’t any sticks, anthills, or any potentially prickly (poisonous) plants around.

When the area had been cleared, they settled down, sitting side by side. Bucky scanned the field, counting and watching after his goats. Maggie removed a comb from her bag, and pulled her hair tie from her messy bun, allowing her hair to fall easily around her. It was getting long and unruly, But she hadn’t taken the time this morning to properly comb and braid her hair for the day.

Starting with the ends, Maggie worked toward the roots, before combing the section of hair root to end. She watched Bucky out of the corner of her eyes, his head on a swivel. Whether this was part of the job or a consequence of seventy years of active duty, Maggie knew whatever the answer if it comforted and assured him, then who was she to interfere in the ritual.

“What’s your favorite color?” She asked after a moment of silence.

“Green.” He answered without thinking.

“Really?” Maggie laughed lightly.

“What do you mean, really?”

“For some reason or another, I had it in my head that your favorite color was blue.”

“Probably the Howling Commando’s jacket.”

“Yeah, probably.” She agreed.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’ve been experimenting with different weight thread and was going to start a new project. So I’ve been thinking through what colors I might want to use.”

“So you ask me what my favorite color is?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Plan on gifting me some of your experiments.”

“Only if you let me.” Maggie paused, “So why green?”

“Is it that unbelievable?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Was just curious if you had a reason.”

Bucky looked out over the rolling grassy plains and leaned back on his arm, his fingers entwining with the grass at the border of their blanket. “It’s cool and soft. It’s _living.” _He shrugged. “I dunno. What about you? What’s your favorite color?”

“I’m rather fond of purple. It’s warm and deep and has hidden depths,” She replied, setting down her comb. “But. if I were going to make myself fabric for clothing, it would likely be in goldenrod or mustard.”

“Yellow?”

“Yes. I happen to look good in yellow.”

“You’d look good whatever you wore.”

Maggie blushed. “Th-thanks?” She managed.

“I’m being serious,” Bucky said earnestly, as he turned to her.

“I know, that’s why I’m blushing.”

“Well, here, let me help.” He leaned over and taking her chin in his hand, kissed her.

“Ooh, James Barnes. You smooth bastard, you.” Maggie laughed as they pulled back, her face still flushed red.

“Your ears aren’t quite red yet.”

“No. But I’m a neck and chest blusher.” She said, pulling a little bit at her collar.

“Good to know for future reference.” He murmured, quickly planting a few kisses on her jaw and neck before pulling away again, his eyes scanning her, trying to read if the affection was wanted or appropriate.

“Indeed.” Maggie agreed. “Now, move your legs, I wanna lean against you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He said, his voice low, practically a chuckle.

They adjusted positions, and Bucky spread his legs so that she could sit between them. Her back against his chest, he tentatively put his arm around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Is this okay?” He asked after a moment.

“I was just about to ask if I was blocking your view at all.”

“No, fortunately, you’re short enough to where that isn’t a problem.”

Maggie snorted, “Thanks for that, Barnes.”

“Anytime?” Bucky said, his voice rising sharply at the end of the word.

“You always this charming with the ladies, or am I just lucky?” She questioned, leaning to the side slightly to catch a glance at his expression.

“I don’t think _anyone_ would’ve called me charming. Then or now.” He said the slightest tinge of pink on his cheeks.

“I think Steve would disagree.”

At this, Bucky rolled his eyes. “He _would _say that.”

“And what makes you say _that.”_

“I mean, sure, compared to Steve, I was smooth and charming or what have you. But this is also the guy who called Margaret Carter a _dame._ To her face.”

“And I take it that he was lucky to make it out of that exchange alive.”

“Well, yes. But it’s just not smart to call _any_ woman a dame to her face, least of all one that could break you in half.”

“She must’ve really liked Steve to spare him then, in that case.”

“Yeah.” He paused, fading off. “He really did love her.”

Maggie didn’t say anything. She’d always wondered what that dynamic was like. Becca had gone as far as to say that Bucky and Steve would’ve been a package deal to anyone who decided to marry them. Had Margaret Carter been aware of this arrangement? How had Steve and Bucky communicated the relationship’s parameters? Was that even a discussion that people had back in the 1940s?

She knew for her part that it had been a strange series of discussions that had come up as her and Riley’s relationship had gotten more serious. Fortunately, she and Sam had hit it off right away and had become friends separate from their relationship with Riley. Yet she knew it would be disingenuous to say that she hadn’t felt a pang of jealousy that they were together when more often than not, she was by herself on the ranch holding down the fort. She’d had her various girlfriends and boyfriends, but all of that had fallen away in the wake of Riley’s death, when the struggle to keep the ranch afloat, along with trying not to outright succumb to grief had taken precedence over the dating scene.

“Were you jealous?” The question slipped out before she could stop herself.

“Of Steve or Carter?”

“Fair.”

There was a long pause as Bucky mulled over her question. “I was.” He answered slowly. “It was an adjustment. I had gotten used to it just being us. To having Steve to myself.” Bucky faltered.

“And by then, he wasn’t just Steve anymore, was he?” Maggie filled in the blank.

“Yeah.” He exhaled sharply. “Why do you ask?”

“Polyamory isn’t always easy. Dealing with another person’s emotions is difficult; never mind multiple persons.” Maggie shrugged as casually as she could manage.

“How did you, Riley, and Sam get along?”

“You’ll have to ask Sam about that some time, I was the Carter in this situation, so I couldn’t say how he felt about _me_ entering the situation.”

“But you were okay? With sharing?”

“It wasn’t necessarily a question of sharing. More like Sam was someone who was _also_ important to Riley and that if I wanted Riley in my life, I had to accept that Sam would also be there too.” She answered.

Bucky ‘hmmm-ed’ thoughtfully but offered no other comment, so Maggie was going to leave well enough alone. They were a _thing,_ but only just. Better to not think about the specifics of what she and Bucky were as a couple if that was how he classified them. Better just to think of themselves in the present, the past was too painful, and the future was mired with uncertainty.

She sighed, leaning back into him, taking in the countryside around them, the vast green prairie that melted into the rolling hills that sloped upward toward the snow-capped mountains far, far away.

“What are you thinking about, Mags?” Bucky murmured, voice so low it was almost a hum.

“Have you ever called me a dame?” It was a lie, but the truth wasn’t quite as much fun to contemplate. Least of all, outside on a beautiful day when the sun was shining, and she was in the warm embrace of a handsome man.

At this, Bucky snorted. “No. I have more sense than that.”

“oh no. Of course. Though I doubt there’s much I could do to you in retaliation for such an indiscretion.”

“I have no doubt you’d find a way. You’re resourceful.”

“Well, thank you for that, Barnes.”

“Of course, anytime, Mags.”

Maggie glanced up to catch his expression and couldn’t help but smile at the grin on his face. It was small and close-mouthed, but his eyes crinkled with the smile. It was a truly _happy_ expression, one that Maggie was grateful to see and profoundly honored to have inspired the expression on his ordinarily serious features.

There was a heavy gust of wind that blew her hair around her like a gigantic tornado, and Bucky made a sound approximating a coughing-choking-laughing noise. “Like that, for instance.” He managed, pulling his hand behind her, and gathering a large portion of her wayward mass of hair.

“Okay, the wind is _hardly _my fault.” She laughed, hand shooting to the nape of her neck to sweep hair over her shoulder. “But, I should probably put it up to avoid it getting too tangled.” Maggie turned around to face him, crossing her legs. “And I suppose to avoid any unfortunate and completely accidental strangulation of one James Barnes.”

“Much appreciated.” He answered.

Maggie separated her hair into rough sections and started slowly working her long tresses into a single french braid. Bucky watched, his eyes focused more on her hands as they moved. “Taking notes?” She asked, after a moment under his gaze.

“What?” He said, scrunching his face as his eyes met her’s before his hand went to his forehead, running his fingers through his hair. “Oh. No.” He shook his head. “I used to braid Becca’s hair. I’m well aware of how it’s achieved.”

“Really?”

“Mmh, hmm.” He nodded. “I was curious how you managed when your hand was...you know...” Bucky couldn’t quite say what he meant, but his meaning was clear.

“Oh,” Maggie said as lightly as she could manage. “Sam. Sam helped, though he did threaten to cut it off a time or two when I was being stubborn about the whole thing. But I figured out how to tie it up with one hand both while my wrist was in it’s cast. It’s only since I’ve been in Wakanda that I’ve been able to get back into french braiding my hair.”

“It looks beautiful,” Bucky replied slowly. “How long have you had long hair?”

“Oh. I’ve had long hair for as long as I can remember. It’s sort of a part of my identity as a human being at this point. Magdalene Ramirez, tiny Mexican-American dame with long hair,” She commented.

_It’s the only recognizable thing about you that’s left, isn’t it? _It was a horrible thought, but not entirely untrue.

“Amazing cook, sarcastic movie commentator, good kisser, and clever doll, you mean,” Bucky added quickly, circumventing her mental spiral before it could take hold.

Maggie lifted her head and met his intense gaze and the soft smile that tugged gently at the corner of his mouth. “Not able to break the habit, huh Barnes?” She said, returning the smile.

“It’s going to be a difficult one to shake.”

“I’ll learn to deal.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Anytime.” Maggie tied off the end of the braid and sighed. “There, no chance of accidental strangulation. Which, speaking of accidental strangulation.”

“Now, that’s one hell of a way to start a sentence,” Bucky interjected with a chuckle.

“How are you managing with your hair being that long?” She charged on.

That had been an item of some curiosity. She rarely saw him with his hair up and had never seen him put it up himself. Had he figured out how to put his hair up with only one hand? Or was there something else she was missing in this equation?

“You mean, why haven’t I cut it, or how am I dealing with it while down an arm?” He inquired wryly.

“Oh. I figured that you hadn’t cut it because A) you wanted to see how long you could stand having it, or B) you didn’t want anyone with sharp implements around your face. I will admit I’m a bit curious about the method you use to get your hair up.”

“The kids.” He answered simply.

Well, that had been amazingly straight forward. Personally, Maggie remembered the weeks of practice it had taken her to get her hair into a passable bun. She’d even progressed as far as learning how to braid one-handed, though she’d only done it successfully once. “And how does that work?”

“Strange one-armed white guy, remember?”

“Right. That. Well, there are a number of very helpful YouTube videos out there if ever you’re in the market for new hairstyles beyond what the children of Wakanda are willing to give you, I have some recommendations.”

“Much appreciated.” He paused, glancing at her up and down. “Would you braid my hair for me?” He asked so softly that Maggie wasn’t sure what he’d said for a moment.

“Right now?” Maggie inquired in turn, once her brain had caught up with what her ears had heard.

“Well, since we’re talking about it.” Bucky shrugged as nonchalantly as one could while also bracing for teasing or rejection of some kind.

“Wasn’t sure if you had a particular time and place in mind, but you’re right, no time like the present.” She agreed, watching as he visibly relaxed, his shoulders easing slightly. “I have a couple of hair ties and a comb. How do you want it?”

“I leave that up to you.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

-

Maggie was close to him, running her fingers through his hair. He could feel the goosebumps that the sensation of her fingers on his scalp was raising on his skin as she parted his hair and started working it into two braids. She’d decided to go for the double french braid, and she hummed a simple little tune as she worked, occasionally narrating what she was doing.

It was nice. The day, thus far, had been surprisingly nice all around.

He’d been surprised when she’d asked to come with him to watch the goats graze. It wasn’t exactly what you’d call exciting, and for the past month and a half, they’d devoted their weekend to exploring more of the Wakanda together. They’d gone back to the falls, to the markets around their villages, they’d seen a couple of plays, and watched a couple of Wakandan movies. They’d filled their days together with some kind of planned activity. So when he’d learned they wouldn’t be able to _do_ anything today, he’d been concerned that she’d be disappointed.

Bucky liked having her around, and he liked how much more time they were spending together since they’d both shared that they cared for each other. She likewise seemed to enjoy his company, too. She had, after all, volunteered to come with him to mind his goats, and that didn’t offer much entertainment.

“And done,” Maggie announced, tying off the second braid.

_Well, mostly. _He amended.

“Wanna see?”

“Sure,” Bucky said as she sat down on the ground beside him and opened a front-facing camera on her Kimoyo bracelet.

The feed appeared, and Bucky turned his head this way and that way to admire Maggie’s handiwork. He’d never grown his hair out this long, and so it was strange to see his hair in braids. In the same way, it had been strange to see his hair up in pigtails and buns back when he’d been on the run.

“Do you like it?” She questioned cautiously, unsure if his silence was an indication of displeasure.

“It’s different.” He answered, still evaluating his picture as he turned his head this way or that way.

“Wanna take a selfie?”

Bucky turned his head to see her expression clearly. The broad smile that stretched practically ear to ear on her face. Was she winding him up? She very well might be, but he didn’t mind. “Who’d we send it to, Ramirez? Shuri? Steve and the gang?” 

“Why not both?” Her broad smile somehow got even bigger.

“The only thing we’re missing is flower crowns.” He chuckled.

“Well, hold on there, that’s a thought. Give me a second.” Maggie turned off the camera and turned to the pile of wildflowers she’d collect earlier from their walk through the pasture.

They were starting to wilt in the afternoon heat, but she sorted through them, separating the withered from the more spritely of the group. “I don’t think they’re hearty enough to make into a flower crown, but I can certainly work some of them into our hair. It’ll give us the desired effect.” She commented as she worked.

Bucky chuckled but said nothing further, watching as she separated the flowers, and then started to shorten their stems. Once satisfied with her work, she turned to him. “Okay, Barnes.” She said. “How floral do you wanna be?”

“As floral as you can make me, doll.”

Maggie blushed at that but nodded and collected a handful of flowers. Adjusting her position in front of him, she started very carefully inserting the stems of the blooms, her face bent in focus and concentration, her eyes working diligently to assess the correct placement and arrangement of each flower. “There! I think that ought to do it.” Maggie announced proudly, moving away and opening the front-facing camera again.

He was positively floral. While not an outright flower crown, he was haloed in delicate pink, purple, and yellow flowers. Bucky glanced back up at her as she chewed on her lip apprehensively, still unsure of what he thought about all of this. “It’s wonderful, Mags.” He said, leaning in, he kissed her quickly on the forehead. “But you need flowers too. Give me some of those. I can put them in your hair.”

Before she could protest, he scooped up the remainder of the flowers. “Don’t move.”

Maggie rolled her eyes but remained still as he inserted the stems into her hair. Eventually, she closed her eyes as he worked, her face smooth, even with a satisfied smirk twisting the corners of her mouth. “What?” He asked after a moment.

“I’m imagining what it was like when you, James Barnes, were brushing and styling Becca’s hair.” She answered.

“To be honest, I was absolutely horrible. I did get the hang of a braid eventually, but I’d wager Becca learned how to do her own hair faster in part because of my incompetence.”

“I admire that you even attempted.”

“Well, Ma’s hands were arthritic. In the cold, it was difficult for her to manipulate things. With Rachel and Abby already off at school, it fell to me to help Bec with her hair,” He explained.

“I can understand that.” Maggie murmured.

Bucky paused, glancing down at her hands, which were resting in her lap. He could see the bright hot surgery scars on her left hand. He felt a pang of guilt every time he saw them. He’d very nearly apologized earlier when he’d seen them. He felt that he should apologize again for what had happened to her, for what Hydra had done to her because of him.

“Everything okay?” She asked, cracking an eye open.

“Yeah.” He nodded, glancing down, he took her left hand in his. “Does it still hurt?” He murmured, his thumb brushing over the scars.

“Sometimes. But not too bad anymore,” Maggie answered with a heavy sigh. There was a long pause, and she placed her hand on his shoulder, her fingers stroking the back of his neck. “We have difficult pasts, don’t we?”

Bucky scoffed but nodded, “You could say that.”

“Certainly makes for shitty small talk.” She chuckled humorlessly. At that, he glanced up at her. “But I think that’s okay,” Maggie added. Leaning in, she kissed his forehead. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t regret telling the Hydra agents who tortured me to fuck off, if it meant giving you a bit of a head start.”

“I should’ve stayed.” He shook his head.

“Our story would be different if you had,” She said softly.

_That _was for sure. Who knew what might have happened. For all of his regret those months he’d thought he’d left her to die, he’d never contemplated what might have happened _after. _He’d even struggled to imagine a scenario where he wasn’t dead, captured, or worse. He never would’ve imagined any of this would’ve happened that he’d be here, with her, in this place.

“No use thinking about what-ifs. We’re here now, so let’s enjoy ourselves.” Maggie reached up, kissing his forehead before quickly moving away again. “Now let’s see what you’ve done with my hair, and see if we can’t share this with Shuri and the gang.” She smiled, opening the camera once again.“Sounds like a plan. Should we do duck lips?”

“Ooh, Bucky Barnes, you’ve been hitting the internet memes hard, I see,” She laughed. “And since you asked, absolutely!” 

“All right. Let's see if we can’t get a few good ones.”

They took a dozen photos, making silly faces until they couldn’t stand it anymore, giggling and laughing until Bucky was sure he was going to split a seam, and Maggie was red in the face. They fell back onto the blanket, gasping for air, chests heaving.

Bucky looked over at Maggie, watching as wiped the tears that streamed down her face from the exertion of trying to quell her giggling, her face flushed, her eyes bright, her smile broad.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” Bucky shook his head.

“Oh, Come on now, Barnes. You can’t just look at a woman that way, and then say nothing.”

“Just wondering why a beautiful dame would want anything to do with the likes of me,” Bucky said with as much cheek as he could manage, watching as Maggie somehow managed to blush, exhaling a small and shaky breath as she blinked, clearly flustered. “Not what you were expecting?” He asked, his grin widening.

“Well, James Barnes.” She grunted, rolling onto her side to face him, her braid sliding over her shoulder. “Believe it not. This dame finds you charming, handsome, and rather good company.”

Bucky opened and closed his mouth a moment, trying to find the best way to respond. He wanted to make some sort of sarcastic comment refuting her claims, and he could see the way her expression was screwed up in that mock-serious way, she knew that’s what he was going to do. “Only rather?” He finally inquired, cocking an eyebrow.

“Now you're just being pedantic, you bastard.” Maggie chuckled, leaning down she kissed him on the forehead, her hand against his temple, fingers playing with the little baby hairs that had escaped the braids.

“And? What are you going to do about it, doll?”

“Continue to pay you compliments until you stop turning them into opportunities for self-deprecation.” She said, kissing him again, this time on the mouth.

“That’s not fair,” He muttered as she pulled away, moving his hand to her shoulder, and then up to cup the side of her head.

“No.” She agreed, with a slight tilt of her head. “But I don’t think there’s really anything you can do to me to stop me.”

“I don’t think there would be any way I could stop you even if I wanted to,” He chuckled.

“That’s for damn sure.” Maggie chuckled, lowering herself down beside him, curled up under his arm.

He tensed for just a moment, uncertain of what to do, before he slowly rest his arm around her, his hand cupping her shoulder. “Is this okay?” He asked after a moment.

“James Barnes, this is absolutely okay,” She murmured, with a heavy sigh, leaning even further into him.

“Sorry, we didn’t get to do anything fun today.”

“Hanging out with you is fun.” She answered.

“If you say so.” He laughed gently.

“Mmhhh, hmmm.”

Bucky’s attention wandered momentarily from the woman wrapped in the crook of his arm to the deep, clear, blue sky that stretched out overhead, the clouds puffy and white like cotton candy. There was a gentle breeze that wafted the faint perfume from the flowers around them. He could hear the other goatherds in the distance, conversing and laughing, the bleat of goats, the increasingly steady and even inhale and exhale of breath from Maggie. He glanced sideways at her and could see her breath stirring the strands of hair that had managed to avoid entrapment in her braid.

It was picturesque, worthy of artists and poets. If he’d been anywhere near competent at any of those things, Bucky might have even ventured to paint, sketch, draw or write something worthy of the moment, to capture it in time, forever. A moment of perfect bliss. A moment singularly theirs.

He wasn’t sure he understood it, any of what had happened to him since his arrival in Wakanda, since Maggie’s arrival in Wakanda. Then again, maybe he didn’t have to understand it to enjoy and appreciate what was going on.

“So, are we going to go to the poetry recitation in a couple of weeks?” She asked, her voice groggy and distance.

“We can if you want to,” Bucky answered.

“You did say you’d take me.”

“Of course, Mags.” He said, kissing the top of her head.

She nodded wordlessly and settled into him. After a moment, her breathing grew long and even, her body pressed against his, wrapped in his embrace. A beautiful moment, likely a temporary and fleeting one, but it was his none the less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello everyone! Wasn't that sweet and fluffy? I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for your patience. Things have certainly managed to get crazier since the last time I posted. I hope everyone stays safe and keeps in good health. As always, comments, kudos, and good vibes are always welcome and appreciated.
> 
> I hope to post again soon, but until then, Happy Reading!


	18. Of Men and Poets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> TW: mentioned homophobia, referenced homophobia 
> 
> Recommended Listening: Sweet Child of Mine by Guns ‘n Roses; Don’t Fence Me In by Bing Crosby; Forever Young by Alphaville; Hands on the Wheel by Willie Nelson
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=3gn41wDPRo-otqgMM3eq7Q

It was May now, or was it almost June? Bucky didn’t know, but the afternoon was ebbing into dusk, which would soon melt into night, and all the noises of the jungle and village around them rose out of the darkening sky. He was tending a pan over cooking coals, watching Maggie out of the corner of his eye.

Dinner preparations were well underway, and Maggie was singing along to “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns N’ Roses while she chopped onions and garlic and an assortment of root vegetables, her bangles, and earrings jingling along in time with the beat. Her movements were steady and sure, her expression focused, but her mind, he could tell, was far and away. He smiled to himself, trying to focus on stoking the coals and ensuring there was even heat for the pan, while also giving her privacy as she sang.

It was the weekend, and she was staying over. Maggie had stayed over nearly every weekend for the last month, probably the last two months, and they saw one another almost every day. However, Bucky’s favorite time of day with Mags was when they were cooking together. It had become their routine, a comfortable habit, and repeated so frequently over the past months they hardly needed to verbally communicate at all, attuned to what the other person was thinking or what they needed to finish the dish. It felt homey, a small family unit of two gathering together to make a meal together. It reminded him of a simpler time. It reminded him of what it meant to be _normal_, and he appreciated any sort of reminder of normalcy.

Bucky rose from his position in front of the coals at the sound of Mag’s scrapping her cutting board off into the pan and turned to where she was sitting at the low table, focused on her task. Her singing had reduced itself to a small mumble as she worked to keep all of the chopped vegetables from going everywhere, her eyes down and focused.

This gave Bucky a chance to admire her properly a moment. He frequently enjoyed this moment of transition, but tonight was different. Tonight was special. They were both dressed up to attend the poetry recitation in the village. It was a coming of age tradition in Wakanda, and each village held their own recitation of the Great History, and when done correctly, it took about two to three hours to recite the text through to the present. _He_ was probably going to recite a stanza tonight, though he hadn’t mentioned that to Mags, who seemed mostly interested in the historical and cultural aspects of the event. It would also be their first time attending a social gathering as a couple, s_tepping out together._ He would’ve said, had it not been completely absurd.

In preparation for the evening, they’d both washed and groomed and were now wearing their best clothes. Mags was wearing the same outfit she’d worn during the festival in November, the wrap skirt, and black halter with a head wrap and large hammered metal earrings and cuffs. Bucky had decided on his customary blue and red traditional outfit that he’d been given as a gift by the village when he first arrived.

Then, while he normally just let his hair hang loose, tonight, he’d allowed Mags to comb and secure in a low ponytail at the base of his neck. At the end of it, she looked beautiful and elegant and confident, while he somehow managed to look even more awkward and out of place than he felt, which was quite the feat all things considered. Yet, then again, she always did look beautiful, regardless of the occasion.

“Okay, it’s all yours.”

“Huh?” He blinked, and he couldn’t help but notice the quick smirk that passed over her features, a sure sign that she’d caught him checking her out.

“Both the pan and the song selection.” She said, training her face into a smooth neutral expression.

“Right. Yes.” He cleared his throat, collecting the pan with their dinner inside from her before transferring it to the hot coals. Situating the pan on an ideal spot, he lifted the lid to inspect the contents inside before replacing it again.

“So, what do you got for us, James?” Mags asked sweetly, moving from her spot at the table to the washbasin, where she discarded the dirty knife and cutting board.

Bucky tried to ignore the way his stomach fluttered at the use of his first name. Most of his very long life, he’d either been Bucky to his friends and family, Buck to Steve, Barnes in the military, and then the soldier, the asset, or hey you as the Winter Soldier. Very _few_ people had ever called him James. Those that had held a very special place in his heart, and now it seemed Mags was among them.

Rising from where he’d been crouched next to the fire, he opened up his music selection and scrolled through, brows furrowed in exaggerated concentration, all the while aware as Mags’s intense and unwavering gaze tracked his every movement.

Bucky mulled over his choices, trying to figure out what he wanted to play next. They’d started this round-robin a while ago when they hadn’t been able to decide _what_ they wanted to listen to. Ultimately, they’d decided that they’d each get a turn selecting a song, but that they couldn’t repeat a song. It was a way, Bucky argued, that he could learn more about each other and their musical tastes while also expanding his musical repertoire. However, his mind was drawing a blank, and he wasn’t sure what he wanted to inflict upon Mags at the moment, particularly after something like ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine.’

He paused, as a familiar title appeared, and a smile twisted at the corner of his mouth. “You got something?” Mags inquired.

“I think so. Something that I think you’ll appreciate.” He answered, before hitting play, his eyes fixed on Mags’s face.

Maggie stopped what she was doing as the first few bars rang out, her face crinkled in concentration as Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters started to sing. “What never heard ‘Don’t fence me in’ before, Ramirez?” He teased.

“I have, it’s just been a while.” She glanced up at him. “So, why this one? I mean, why’d you say I’d appreciate it? I mean, I _do_ appreciate it, but why specifically.”

“It’s your song.”

“My song?” She echoed, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Bucky chuckled, it wasn’t often that he was able to catch her off guard like this, and he was enjoying every moment. “I dunno, just seems to be your attitude about quite a number of things,” He shrugged, extending his hand to her, “Dance with me?”

Maggie did a double-take, “To this?”

“Yeah. Why not?” He countered, feeling emboldened by her uncertainty, and surprised by his spontaneity. It had been a while since he’d danced. What better to dance to than Bing and The Andrews Sisters?

“But this isn’t swing.”

“No. But a little light waltz never hurt anyone, come on.” Bucky teased, “What, don’t tell me you can’t waltz?” He did his best not to laugh, but he’d been under the assumption that Mags could do everything, from dancing to light surgery, to espionage and horseshoeing. So just like with her fear of heights, he was taken aback by her sudden hesitance.

“Well...I just...you know it....” Maggie stammered.

A broad smile settled on his face, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Don’t worry.” He said, gently cutting her off before she could stammer into silence. “I’m the one with the tricky part, just follow my lead. I’ll take care of you, Mags.” He soothed as he took her hand and led her wordlessly to a clear empty patch of dirt well out of the way of any prickly plant, or the fire pit.

She acquiesced, and haltingly they began their waltz, her expression tense as she focused on the steps. “This is supposed to be fun, yanno,” Bucky commented dryly after a moment of watching her clench her jaw, feeling both the tension in her body as well as hesitance radiating off of her in waves.

She looked up at him, a blush rising on her face. “I don’t wanna mess it up,” She answered sheepishly.

“What’ll happen if you do?” Bucky asked after a moment of watching her painfully earnest expression

“I—umm—well. I’ll step on your toes—and—”

“I’m wearing boots, Mags. It won’t hurt me if you step on my toes.” He murmured, quickly kissing the top of her head as they moved around in a carefully charted path.

“Still, I’d prefer to avoid any such indignity.” She said, glancing up to meet his gaze.

“I’ll do my best to keep anything like that happening.”

“You’re a brave man, James Barnes.”

“Oh?” He looked down at her and the amused expression on her face, “

“You may be a Super Soldier, Assassin, but I happen to one of the clumsiest people on the planet.”

“I’d say at least you don’t willingly throw yourself in harm's way and get way in over your head without a plan like Steve does, but that wouldn’t be entirely honest now would it?”

“Ouch, James Barnes.” She laughed, good-humored as her gaze returned to the ground, focusing on their feet.

“But.” He continued.

“But?” She echoed.

“But, regardless of circumstances, I’ll do my best to keep us both from major injury.”

“Much appreciated, I’d imagine that would put a damper on the evening and hinder our ability to attend the recitation.”

“That it would.” He agreed, pausing as the song ended, and the speakers went quiet. They stepped apart, both of them surveying each other. “Fortunately, no such intervention was needed. You went the whole song without stepping on my toes.”

“So, calamity averted then, is it?”

“I’d just say that’s pretty good. You’re a pretty decent follower when you want to be.”

“When I want to be,” She agreed with a wry grin. “And I’d even venture to say you’re a pretty good leader when you want to be.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, James,” Maggie replied, rising on her toes, kissed his cheek. “I’m going to go make sure dinner isn’t burning.”

“Sounds good.”

She turned away, toward the fire pit. Crouching down, she removed the lid and carefully stirred the contents of their dinner.

_How did we get here?_ Bucky couldn’t help but wonder as he watched her work, her expression thoughtful as she tasted the sauce that would accompany dinner. How had they gotten so comfortable with each other? It felt so natural being around her, so right.

Yet, somehow, he felt as though he wasn’t pulling his weight in this relationship. They had a good time when they were together. He loved that he could make her laugh and smile, but that wasn’t an accurate measure of any relationship. It was how people dealt with difficult things that was the actual determining factor. Not to say that the whole beginning of their relationship hadn't been full of horrible shitty situations. She knew all of this horrific shit about him and had coached him through some difficult and shitty situations. Yet she had yet to share whatever burden she was carrying with him. Bucky knew she’d experienced some horrifying and difficult things in her life, he’d read about some of them when he’d done his research on her, yet it hadn’t come up, and at this point, Bucky wasn’t sure she would discuss it without prodding.

It wasn’t that he _wanted_ her to talk about painful things, particularly painful things that had happened to her; it was that he wanted to be worthy of sharing such a load with her. Wanted to be able to provide the comfort and support that she had so often supplied to the people around her, and to him in particular, in kind. Wanted to be worthy of her in every situation, not just in fair weather.

“So, what do you think is the biggest difference in popular culture in the year of our lord 2017 versus 1941?” Maggie questioned as she added some more water and continued to stir the contents of the pan before replacing the lid.

The question him dragged him out of his head, planting him firmly in the present. “What brought that on?” Bucky countered. Bucky countered, trying to chart out her train of thought.

“Curiosity? Wanting to know a little bit about what you think about this brave new world of ours?”

“Okay, that’s fair.” Bucky nodded, pausing as he contemplated his answer. Maggie didn’t stare, didn’t pressure him to answer, and instead continued with her work with dinner. “Well,” he began slowly. “I think the biggest difference is the sheer volume of stuff that’s created and distributed. That, and how you consume media as a passive rather than as purposeful activity.”

“Example?”

“Example?” He echoed, leaning his head back and squeezing his eyes shut strained for a concrete example he could give her. “I mean, I dunno. Listening to music and radio programs was an _event_, the whole family gathered around. Listening to FDR’s fireside chats? That wasn’t something you could go look up on YouTube or whatever if you missed it.”

“So, do you think this is a good or a bad thing?”

“I don’t think it's good _or _bad, just different.”

“Not going to condemn the younger generation of whippersnappers who have it so much easier than you kids did back in the day?”

“You mean when I had to walk five miles in the snow to school every day?”

“It was uphill both ways, too, wasn’t it?” Maggie giggled.

“Oh. Of course. How could I forget?” He drawled sarcastically.

“You’re funny.” She rose and turned to face him.

"Glad I can be a source of amusement, Magdalene.”

“So Steve said you were partial to Glenn Miller back in the day. Do you have any new artists you’re particularly fond of or partial to at the moment?”

“Not at the moment, I’ve mostly been trying to get through the backlog. I’ve been trying to get through at least a year’s worth of music every week.” He stopped at the horrified expression that crossed Maggie’s face. “What?”

“That sounds horribly…clinical.”

“What else am I supposed to do if I wanna catch up?” He stammered defensively, reflexively putting his hand up as if to ward off an oncoming attack.

“I dunno. Not _that._”

“What would you do?” She opened her mouth to respond, but Bucky cut her off, “Other than ‘not that,’ I mean.”

She paused, taking a deep breath, a flush had risen on her cheeks, a determination in the set of her jaw. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s just music has always been something tremendously personal. It’s deeply rooted in who I am. Everything I listen to is, in some way, rooted to who I am. From the mariachi music I played as a kid all the way to well…Guns n’ Roses,” She stammered, glancing at him uncertainly, bracing as if expecting him to laugh.

Instead, he just nodded. “So, Guns N’ Roses?” He asked simply.

“Mhhh, hmmm.” She bobbed her head, wringing her hands.

“What about it-them?” He tried to urge as gently as he could manage.

“It was a group my mom would listen to. She’d sing Sweet Child o’ Mine to me during thunderstorms when I’d get scared. Or on summer days, we’d drive down the road with the windows open, belting out the lyrics to Welcome to the Jungle. I mean, it wasn’t _just_ Guns N’ Roses, it was the Scorpions, Selena, Queen, Cake.”

“Cake?” He echoed.

“Yeah. They’re fun, I dunno, I have a lot of feelings about a lot of songs, because of how and when my mother introduced them to me. They make me feel safe. Like I’m home.”

_Home. _He could understand the feeling. Understand that specific ache in your rib cage when you could remember something so viscerally that you thought you might be able to reach out and take hold of it. “So music is a memory trigger for you?”

“Oh. It’s a _proven _memory trigger. There are all sorts of studies about Alzheimer’s, Dementia, and music, tons of anecdotal evidence too. It was something I used to do with my granddad when things got bad. I’d play guitar and sing to him, and sometimes he’d sing along too, and for a minute, things didn’t feel quite so bad,” Maggie paused, shaking her head as if trying to disperse a fog that had settled around her head.

It was the most that she’d talked about her family with him, other than the one time they’d talked about what had happened to her brother Antonio, and Bucky could hear the longing and depthless sadness in her voice as she spoke. Had she been close with her family? What had happened to them? He hadn’t looked up her extended family, or if they were alive.

“Do you miss your family?”

“My mother, brother, and grandparents? Yeah. The rest of them can rot.” She said flatly.

“Oh.” Bucky managed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He could feel himself internally panicking as if he’d overstepped some invisible boundary.

“It’s okay.” Maggie paused, chewing on the corner of her mouth before continuing. “After my mother died, I came out to my father as bi. I don’t think it really sunk in until I brought home my girlfriend at the time, Eva.” Maggie stopped, shaking her head like she was trying to shake something off. “He uh. He told me in not so many words that I was dead to him, and that he was glad my mother was dead, so she didn’t have to lose both her children. He disowned me and kicked me out. My maternal grandparents took me in, but not before they made it clear that whatever ‘phase’ I was going through was over and done. I can’t say the rest of my family took it much better.” She glanced up to meet his gaze. “I haven’t spoken to them in years, I’m not sure if they know I’m alive or dead, but at this point, I don’t really think it matters.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” She nodded. “Me too.” Again she shook her head, “It was always so strange, possessing the capacity to love in such a beautiful way, without regard to the way we’re told, and then being shamed for it. What I think made it worse was then I married a man, and so it sort of ‘proved’ that it was only a phase. Little did everyone know.” She laughed dryly, but it was without humor. “But it was in a time before Riley could be out, and so it was safest for everyone just to assume, and we let them.”

“Easier to let them remain set in how they saw the world...how they saw you than risk losing everything.” Bucky managed. He couldn’t even imagine the idea of “coming out” to his parents. He was pretty sure Becca knew that he was of that particular _inclination, _but hearing what Maggie had gone through, he knew perhaps in some way that he was fortunate never to have had to make that choice outright.

“Yeah. I think that’s a good way to put it.” Maggie agreed.

Bucky lowered his head, silently kicking himself. He hadn’t thought about what he was asking about how private and even invasive that question was. _Well, you wanted to know if she trusted you with the heavy shit, and you just found out, huh?_ Should he feel relieved? Instead, he felt like an ass, that he hadn’t been more sensitive. “Mags, I’m sorry.” Bucky blurted out after a moment. “I didn’t know.”

“You asked an honest question, and so I gave you an honest answer. Not many get that.” She said gently. “It’s not pretty, but it’s the truth.”

“Thank you for telling me about that, and I’m sorry that you had to go through that alone.” He managed.

“It was a long time ago, but thank you, and thank you for listening.”

“Of course.” Bucky nodded, unsure of how he should direct conversation or if he should say anything at all.

Yet as he watched her, she didn’t look upset, and though Bucky knew she was quite skilled at hiding her emotions, he also got the feeling that there wasn’t any reason for her hide anything. She was the one who’d answered his question. If it had been too painful a subject or something she’d rather not tell him, she could’ve just as easily lied or not have answered the question at all. And as she’d said, he’d asked an honest question, so she’d given him an equally honest answer.

“Do you miss your family? I always got the impression that you were all very close.” Maggie inquired as she moved from the cooking coals back to the table where he’d started to set out dishes and utensils for dinner.

“We were close. I do miss them.” He nodded, chewing on the inside of his mouth a moment before he continued. “I’m still haven’t decided if I’m thankful they never found out what happened to me, or at least not _all _of what happened to me. I think it was better for them that they thought I was dead, that they’d thought I’d died a hero.” Bucky admitted, watching her expression closely, wondering how fine a line he was walking between honesty and outright moroseness.

“Better to remember each other as you were, rather than what the world made of you,” Maggie said distantly.

“Yeah.” There was something to the phrase that put Bucky on edge, and he waited for her to continue. 

“That’s what your sister said when she told me she was dying. I felt guilty for not finding you in time, for not finding you in time to say goodbye.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she added as if this was some grave admission of guilt.

Bucky surveyed her, a simultaneous pang of both regret and jealousy filling his chest. They’d talked about a lot of things when it came to Becca, but never this, never the discussion of the end. Not in any way really meaningful, and now to hear that she felt _guilty _that she hadn’t been able to find him in time was nearly too much to bear. However, swallowing back his own emotions, he reached across the table and gently placed his hand on hers. “That wasn’t your fault, Mags.” Bucky chewed at the increasingly raw patch inside of his mouth before continuing. “Thank you for being there for her, for listening to her stories, for getting to know her in a way that I never did. I guess in a way I’m glad you got to know her, got to know Becca, and that in some small way she brought you to me.”

“Becca did predict that we’d get along.”

_Of course she did._ “After a fashion, I’m sure.”

“After a fashion.” She agreed.

“You’re an amazing woman, Mags.”

“You’re a remarkable man, James.” She chuckled, leaning across the table, she planted a kiss on his cheek. “And I’m sorry I plunged us into one unpleasant conversation after another.”

“No need to apologize for that, I’m thankful you told me. Though if there is anything you’d like me not to bring up or topics that are considered off-limits, you can say so, and I won’t bring it up again.” He said earnestly.

Maggie nodded, her expression thoughtful as she pondered his words a moment. “Don’t call me by my full name, ‘Magdalene Ignacia Ramirez,’ it’s something that my father did, and it can be a little triggering.” She admitted, chewing on her lip.

“I understand, and I won’t.” He leaned across the table again and kissed her forehead quickly.

“But I think that’s about it as far as off-limits things, though if anything comes up, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

“Of course.”

“And the same applies to you.”

“I will certainly let you know.”

“Now,” Mags said brightly, taking his hand in both hers. “We should eat soon if we’re going to get to this poetry recitation on time.”

“Agreed.”

A smile crossed her features, and by silence agreement, they both rose to finish up dinner preparations in silence.

They both practically inhaled dinner, and leaving the dishes for later, started the quick walk toward the village center, hand in hand. Throughout all of this, Bucky kept a watchful eye on Maggie, anxious about what was ahead for the evening, but also feeling uncertain about what had transpired between him and Mags. He’d certainly gotten his answer. They could and were able to talk about difficult things together about her past. It was comforting somehow to know that they had moved beyond polite agreeable conversation and into a place where she felt comfortable sharing less than rosy parts of her past with him. She knew about most of the skeletons in his closet. He was glad that perhaps he was worthy of being shown some of hers. What she thought about that, he didn’t know, and unfortunately, they didn’t have the time to discuss it at present. _Perhaps after the recitation. _He assured himself. _First, let's just get through the evening._

By the time they arrived at the village center, there was already a growing crowd, and he could feel Mags tense beside him as they navigated through the throngs of people. They nodded and smiled and greeted each other, all of them knew him, and he knew most of them, their eyes, he couldn’t help, but notice were trained on Mags, whom they’d only seen in passing, or heard of through word of mouth.

Bucky turned to ask her if she was okay when he was cut off by Omondi, “Hey! White Wolf, Cowgirl!” He called, waving them over.

Maggie squeezed his hand, glancing up at him. “Well, come on then, wouldn’t want to keep everyone waiting,” She chuckled weakly.

“We’ll get through this together,” He replied under his breath.

Mags nodded, a warm smile on her lips, before they charged forward, together, into the epicenter of the commotion.

-

Thus far, the evening for Maggie had been incredibly strange. Their pre-dinner conversation had taken a strange turn into oddly heavy discussion topics. She hadn’t minded. They had just been unexpected, first with Bucky’s question about her family, and then with her question about his. Now they were here in the village center, and she was aware that people were watching her.

Maggie had become used to this since she’d come to Wakanda. She was an oddity, and therefore it wasn’t unusual to attract stares and questions from the Wakandans. It had never been out of any sort of malice or malicious intent; they were curious about the outsider in their midst and generally wanted to know more about her.

Tonight, however, was something different, and as they worked their way through the crowd, Maggie had the dawning suspicion the unusual amount of starring had to do with the fact that she and Bucky were holding hands.

They hadn’t exactly been shy about their relationship. They frequently appeared in public with each other. Still, tonight would be the first time they’d appeared at anything of an official semi-formal nature. Maggie hadn’t been sure what to expect. Frankly, she hadn’t put much thought into it, but now that she was here, and this was happening, she was experiencing a serious bout of self-doubt and uncertainty.

What _were_ she and Bucky? If asked, would they say they were ‘stepping out together?’ Which, while an archaic term, certainly applied better than boyfriend/girlfriend or “Fuck Buddy.” It seemed stupid and asinine and downright childish, but in this situation seemed to be something that they probably should’ve parsed through. When it had just been them, it hadn’t mattered, but now that the village was involved (and likely the whole of Wakanda) it seemed a little more important (for their sake and the sake of others) that they had a finite term for how they were currently involved.

Whatever they were, whatever he considered her to be now at this point, was irrelevant. They were here, and people were seeing them. And for her part, Maggie was excited to see the recitation of The Great History. She’d just been unaware there would be all of this _fuss._

Maggie paused in her internal dialogue as she glanced over at Bucky, who was conversing easily or at least pretending to converse easily with the villagers who came up to greet them. At the very least he was pretending he was at ease, Maggie could feel by the way he gripped her hand, that this many people was a challenge. Crowds were an issue for a lot of people, herself included, and finding peace among crowds was difficult. Still, she could do her best on his behalf as he turned on the charm for their hosts while she stood there, basically dumb and deaf to the intricacies of the Wakandan being spoken.

“How are you hanging in there?” She murmured into him when they were seated with a slight pause in the tide of people flowing around them.

“All right, and you?”

“About the same,” Maggie admitted, her eyes darting around the large open space cram-packed with people.

“We can always go if you want. If you need it.” Bucky said earnestly

“No. No. I’m fine. I want to be here. It’s just a lot sometimes.”

“I understand, and if you need to, we can make a quick exit.” 

“Throw over me over your shoulder and make a run for it, huh?”Maggie had to stifle a smile that the image produced in her head.

“Something like that.”

“Not exactly surreptitious.”

“No, but certainly more fun than sneaking away.” He answered.

“I appreciate your flair for dramatic, James Barnes.”

“Of course. Any time, Mags.” He smiled and nodded before their attention was drawn to the center of the gathering.

The whole village fell into a hushed silence as one young boy, no more than ten or eleven, rose to the center of the stage. 

Bucky had prepared her for most of what was going to happen this evening. As he had explained it, part of the coming of age in Wakanda was learning and memorizing The Great History, An epic saga with hundreds of stanzas (though the precise length was apparently a hotly debated subject). The young person would be presented to his or her village and would begin reciting the great history.

The objective was to get as far in the recitation as possible as accurately as you could. When inevitably they misremembered a detail, the story would then get passed to the next eldest child in the village, who would recite the epic for as long as they could remember, and on it would go, from the youngest child to oldest man or woman of the village. That was part of the great history. Knowing you had your elders to support you, that you were not alone, and that you were going to fail, but would have your community to help you along.

The boy got a good five stanzas into the epic before misremembering a king’s name. There was a round of applause as another child, a girl, rose to take his place and continued the telling of the story. 

Maggie listened intently as each member of the community rose to tell a portion of the great history. Her Wakandan was rudimentary at best, but she could more or less follow along as Bucky leaned in and whisper a quick translation in his low and deep voice, no more than a hum in her ear, his breath warm on her neck.

It all felt so intimate, both the poetry recitation, but also their closeness. They were seated side by side, their bodies pressed against one another, their fingers entwined, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of her hand.

Privately Maggie wondered how much money had changed hands when they had finally become romantic partners rather than just friends. Yet, somehow, she didn’t mind. People would have their fun, and anyway, there wasn’t any harm in their speculation. As it had turned out, they’d been right, Becca had been right, she and Bucky did have romantic potential. Whether or not _love_ was in the equation, Maggie didn’t know quite yet, but there was potential.

There was a roar as the audience laughed, jerking her back into the moment. There was laughter and jeering now as the older men and women participating in the telling forgot or fumbled with the rhyming scheme, the whole village chiming in with the correct lines. It had long lost it’s air of reverence as it had been for those who were participating for the first time. Instead, it had taken on the atmosphere of an interactive comedy sketch as each person tried to squeeze as many inaccuracies into their telling as possible without being called out by the audience. Her Wakandan might be basic, but she knew good-natured ribbing when she saw it, and she was able to laugh along as each successive person passed along the narrative to increasingly raucous cheers and jeers alike.

“We’re nearly to the end, how are you holding up,” Bucky asked gently, his head and eyes facing forward, voice barely louder than the dull roar that had risen around them.

“My brain hurts. It is a lot to take in,” she admitted.

At this, he turned to her, kissing her temple, “You’re doing good, Mags.”

Maggie nodded, chewing on the corner of her mouth to suppress her smile, her eyes front, and center. “Thanks, James.”

Then a hush came over the crowd as if everyone was inhaling a collective breath. Maggie could feel all eyes turned to them as the tone suddenly became gave. “White Wolf, would you like to recite the next stanza?” Omondi inquired.

Bucky nodded in reply. Swallowing hard, he released her hand from his grip, rose to his feet, and full height in front of the village. Glancing around, he licked his lips before taking a deep breath and lowing his gaze. Then, he started to speak.

It was faltering and sounded less practiced than those who’d come before him, even more so than those who’d begun the recitation, but his voice was strong and clear despite the uncertainty.

This needed no translation. This was about the death of the Wakandans in Nigeria, the Advocacy of the Sokovia Accords by King T’Chaka, and the bombing of the United Nations. Maggie could tell by the gathered crowd who listened, their expressions solemn that the pain was still raw, and that although the man reciting this stanza of their history was not responsible for the events, was undoubtedly connected in a very real, still very intimate way.

Maggie held her breath, clinging to every word, trying to make out their meaning despite her rudimentary understanding, her eyes locked on Bucky who wasn’t meeting her gaze, as his eyes scanned the crowd, not fixing on any one point.

Then just like that, there was a pause. Bucky took another deep breath and, in unison with the whole of the village, said, “And then came the reign of our New King.”

The recitation concluded and everyone rose with thunderous applause, which was only overtaken by joyous singing, shouting, cheering, and general clamoring of bodies and voices. Bucky was approached by Omondi and several of the village elders that Maggie didn’t recognize, who all wore grave but not unkind expressions, each of them one by one offering a hand. Omondi was last, taking Bucky’s hand firmly, pulled him into an embrace, and whispered something in his ear.

She rose, clutching her arms to her, not entirely sure if she should go up to where Bucky was talking with the Village elders or if she should stay put for the moment. People waved and greeted her as they passed, including a couple of the women, and their children, from her weaving circle. She smiled and waved in return before they went on their way to their friends and family.

“Heyi, Cowgirl!” Maggie turned to see Jelani approaching her.

“Heyi, Jelani.” She answered. Glancing quickly over her shoulder at Bucky, who was now having a very animated conversation with Omondi and the others. “I didn’t know you were going to be here? Is Tee here as well?”

“No. Both she and Sisay had other things they wanted to do. I see you accompanied the White Wolf.”

“Yes, I didn’t know he was going to be reciting a stanza, but I’m glad that I came to support him.”

“What did you think?”

“Of the Great history?” He nodded, so she proceeded. “I thought it was beautiful, what I managed to catch, of course. Fortunately, Barnes was able to translate what I didn’t quite catch.” Maggie admitted, though not quite as sheepishly as she’d imagined the words coming out.

“You are learning, and our language is not so easy. You should be proud of your progress.” He said, patting her on the shoulder amiably.

“Thank you. I do what I can.”

There was peel laughter behind them, and both she and Jelani turned to see Bucky still surrounded by the elders of the village, who were all smiling and laughing at something that had just passed between them. He looked so at ease. Maggie couldn’t help but notice, even despite the nerves he’d displayed earlier in the evening. Had he known that Omondi was going to call him up? Quite likely, though why he hadn’t mentioned it to her was another mystery altogether.

“So you and the White Wolf.” Jelani began with all the nonchalance of a man with absolutely nothing to hide, but very clearly eager to confirm what the gossip mill had been grinding. 

“So you heard about that, huh?” She smiled.

“You’ve been much happier at work, and we do not see you quite so much on the weekend. It was easy to put together.”

“How much money changed hands?”

“I don’t quite follow?”

“Surely, there was a wager.”

“Oh. No. We’d never do something so immature.” Jelani said, barely containing a shit-eating grin. “I can assure you any such activity would’ve been reported directly to me, and then to the king.”

“So I take it His Highness was the winning wager?”

“The Princess, actually.”

“Oh. Well. I pray no one was too unfairly deprived of their hard-earned cash.”

“No one’s finances were too adversely affected.” He said.

“Well, I am glad.” She smiled.

“But you and him, you are happy?” Jelani asked, his tone and expression serious.

“I believe so.” Maggie nodded.

“You look happy. We are glad that you found your way to each other.”

Maggie didn’t know what to say, but Jelani, fortunately, continued without further prompting. “When you both first came to us, you were carrying a heavy burden. There was anger there, fear, I think too. Now that you’ve both been here a while, you’ve opened like beautiful flowers. Could you imagine him getting up in front of the village to recite that stanza six months ago?”

“No.” Maggie shook her head.

“Me either,” He agreed. “You are a good worker and a good member of the community. I’m glad that you came tonight.”

“Heyi Jelani, What are you telling that poor girl?” She was cut off by Omondi’s voice, and they both turned to see Omondi and Bucky walking toward them.

And just like that, Maggie disappeared from the conversation as quick words were exchanged between Omodni and Jelani in Wakandan, while Bucky watched the back and forth between the two men like a tennis match.

“So you came to our little recitation. What did you think?” Omodni asked in English, cutting Jelani off halfway through a sentence, redirecting attention back to her.

“Beautiful. Historical. I liked the rhyming scheme.” She managed, feeling somehow besieged on all sides as her gaze darted between Bucky, Omondi, and Jelani, who were all watching her attentively.

“We are glad you are here.” He smiled and nodded before turning to Bucky, “Remember what I told you,” He said with a hearty slap on the back “Now if you’d excuse us both, we have some official matters to attend to. Enjoy the evening!”

“Thank you.”

“We will,” Bucky added, as both men ventured off and back toward the central village bonfire, where a large crowd had assembled around food and drink.

Maggie and Bucky stood in silence a moment, side by side trying to absorb everything that had just happened, while the rest of the village congregated around the large fire, where drink and food was being distributed.

When their sponsors had disappeared out of sight, they both released a collective exhale, meeting each other’s gaze for the first time. “You all right?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah, you?” She replied breathlessly.

“I think so.”

Maggie chuckled, still feeling like she was in fight or flight mode, and right now, she was leaning toward flight. 

“You wanna go back? Or do you wanna stay here? I know there’s going to be drinking and dancing if you’d like to stay a bit longer.” Bucky inquired gently.

“Can we go back to your place? I’m feeling a little…overstimulated.” Maggie managed finally.

“Absolutely,” He breathed, and Maggie could feel the tension leave his body almost as quickly as it left hers.

They walked side by side a moment in silence until they were out of sight of the village center. “Can I take your hand?” Bucky asked quietly.

“You may.” She paused and licked her lips, trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened.

“You okay?” His voice tinged with concern.

“Yes, I’m trying to figure out when I became such a homebody,” She chuckled weakly.

“Been wondering the same thing myself.”

“I don’t think the two years of isolation in the Avengers complex nor the two years on the ranch by myself have helped either. I _may_ be slightly agoraphobic.”

“Thank you, then, for venturing out with me. I hope it wasn’t too uncomfortable with all the people.”

“Of course, I had a lovely time.” Bucky glanced at her sideways as if unconvinced. “Really.” She added. “It was neat to see you in a different light.”

“Oh. What light is that?”

“In a poetic one.”

“Reciting one stanza does not a poet make.”

Maggie shook her head, ready to contradict his statement, but instead decided on an alternate path of conversation. “Did you know Omondi was going to bring you up there?”

“I had a feeling?”

“Were you nervous?”

“Some.” Bucky hesitated before charging forward, the slightest edge of uncertainty to his voice. “Are you upset I didn’t tell you?”

“No. I mean, I could’ve helped you practice or helped with the nerves, but it’s not something that necessarily ranks on my list of things I’d like to be consulted about.”

He nodded.

“You did very well.” She added, squeezing his hand. She could still feel the uncertainty coming off him in waves, the same way that she’d felt it earlier in the afternoon when they’d been talking about her family, or rather lack thereof.

“Thanks,” Bucky replied bashfully.

Maggie’s hesitated a moment before charging on. “That stanza _was_ about the U.N. Bombings and the Sokovia accords, right? I wasn’t imaging that?”

“No. You weren’t.”

“You all right?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, “I think? It’s just strange thinking about that, and what it caused, and everything that’s happened since. Who I am now, versus what I was then,” Bucky shook his head. “I never would’ve imagined I’d be here, almost a year later.”

“I understand, to a much _much_ smaller degree, but I do get it.” She replied slowly, squeezing his hand again.

Maggie hadn’t thought of that, thought of everything that had happened in the last year. It was almost the first anniversary of all of that, and so much had changed since then: her stint in Juarez, her clandestine rescue from the clutches of the cartels, her proper introduction to James Barnes, her stay in Wakanda, and now _this_ thing that was going on between her and Bucky it was a lot. It was a lot to process, and even more to try to understand and discern some sort of meaning. On a good day she was lucky to be able to talk about her past, never mind figure out what any of it meant. For Bucky, there was just so much more to parse through. She didn’t know how he managed. 

“You know I wanted to recite that Stanza.” Bucky continued unprompted after a moment. “Omondi offered me any of the stanzas I wanted, offered to give me pick based on my lived age or chronological age. But I wanted that one. It felt only right,” He paused, licking his lips. “I asked Omondi when I started going to the poetry readings why they did it. Why they had that last stanza, so soon after it had happened, and he told me healing is in remembering and remembering is in the telling.”

Maggie could feel something in her chest twinge. Was that what they’d been doing earlier? Before the recitation? _Healing is in remembering, and remembering is in the telling._ It was something she knew to be true but had never heard put so succinctly. She’d have to remember that, for later, for whatever came next. “That’s very profound.” She managed, cutting off her train of thought.

“I thought so too. Which is why I chose the stanza I did.”

“Is that what is it that Omondi told you tonight after the recitation?”

“No.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “He said he was proud of me and glad that I had come of age in his village.”

“Oh. I’m glad.” Maggie replied uncertain of what she’d expected from that entire exchange, but glad that it had been positive.

“He also said he was glad to see you there. He’s said more than once that he thought I needed a friend, and he was grateful I brought you.”

_Friend._ She wouldn’t focus too long on the designation, besides if they talked about _that_, if they gave it a name, it said something about the future, and the future, as they both knew, was uncertain and murky at the very best, and hazardous at the very worst. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.” She smiled. “ALSO. I confirmed that there was a betting pool.”

“Who ended up winning?” He laughed with a bright smile.

“The Princess, apparently.”

“Well, she did have a bit of an edge,” Bucky commented ponderously.

“Edge?”

“Once a month she takes a peek inside my brain. I can imagine that tipped her off.”

“You really think I affect your brain?”

“You’ll have to come with me to an appointment at some point. I’m sure the Princess would be happy to show you.”

Maggie smiled at the very notion that The Princess could tell what he was feeling, and thinking, and had been able to make a wager based upon her data. She’d certainly heard stranger things, but the idea that Bucky’s affection for her was somehow _quantifiable _gave her something between chills and butterflies.

“Is that okay?” Bucky asked, uncertain at her silence.

“It is. I supposed I’m trying to wrap my head around the idea of our affection being something you could plot on a chart.” She admitted.

“I would argue only for the purposes of a wager.”

“Mhh, hmmm.” She nodded, though not thoroughly convinced.

However, before she could enunciate what she was feeling, they arrived back home and returned to the dishes they had left from dinner before retreating inside to get ready for bed. Still, a multitude of questions persisted. What were they? What did she mean to him? What did that say about their future? Did they have a future? She didn’t want to ask, but at the same time, she was still bubbling over with questions, and with uncertainty. Everyone else seemed so sure, seemed to know what they were, but to her, the exact nature of their relationship felt ambitious. They’d never discussed it, it seemed to be easier that way, but now as they proceeded several months from the start of this experiment, it felt that a little bit of definition might give some clarity to the situation. For her part, Maggie knew she enjoyed his company, enjoyed being with him and around him, and that she cared for him deeply. Beyond that

“James?” Maggie began, back to back with Bucky, as they changed from their special occasion clothes into something approximating pajamas.

“Yeah, Mags?” He paused what he was doing and glanced over his shoulder at her.

She wanted to ask him what they were. It was a stupid question. They had avoided that question for the very reason that A) it was stupid and juvenile, and B) it was likely neither of them wanted an answer to a question they both knew was coming, “how long are we going to be here?.”

“Thanks for taking me to the recitation. I really did enjoy myself.” She chickened out.

“Of course.” He turned to her. “Mags?”

“Yeah, Bucky?” Maggie turned to him. They were both bare-chested, and she could see the nub of the prosthesis glinting in the dim light, the scarring on his chest and torso, and she couldn’t help but be reminded of that first time, in the outbuilding when she had seen _what_ he was. How far they had come since then, the sorted paths they had traveled that had made this moment possible, it was almost too much to think about.

“Was it okay that we talked about…what we talked about before dinner?”

“My coming out experience and your sister’s passing?”

Bucky nodded.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” She replied, feeling slightly bewildered at his question.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable talking about difficult things with me, and I want to earn your trust so that you feel comfortable talking about that with me.”

“Of course, Bucky, of course, I trust you. I just never—I just didn’t think you’d want to talk about that, or never thought to bring it up.” She rose on her tippy toes, and put her hands to his face, kissing him quickly.

“But you know that you can. Right?”

“Mhhh, hmmm.” She nodded. “I guess I just didn’t want to spoil things with my personal baggage.” She admitted.

“Everything you’ve endured, it is not baggage, Mags, and I’m glad to share the load with you, regardless of what it is,” He murmured, kissing her forehead.

“Thank you, James.” She sighed, leaning her head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat a moment as she gathered her courage to say what needed to be said next—d_ifficult things._ No one said relationships weren’t difficult, and if they were going to proceed forward, some things needed to be enunciated. “What are we, Bucky?”

There was a long silence, where only the sounds of the jungle and the thud of their heartbeats filled the small hut. 

“A perfect moment,” He answered slowly, and so softly that the sound was more a rumble in his chest than actual words.

“A perfect moment?” She echoed, glancing up at him.

“Let's sit down, so I can hold you. Is that okay?” Bucky asked.

Maggie nodded, and he sunk on the bed mat beckoning her to him. She lowered herself down onto his lap, positioning herself to where they were face to face. “Is this okay?” She asked.

“Mhh, hmm.” He said, his hand reaching out to rest on her shoulder, just at the base of her neck, his fingers fiddling with the little fine hairs that had escaped her head wrap.

Maggie surveyed him in the dark of the hut, the lamps so low their light was almost imperceptible. His eyes were soft and searching, his expression serious but not so grave as to be alarming, and his touch was warm and gentle as he played with the baby hairs on her neck. “So, a perfect moment?” Maggie prompted after a moment, both her hands moving to cup his face, her fingers stroking his short beard.

Bucky nodded, “Yeah.” He locked eyes with her. “I—I don’t know how to say this without being completely fatalistic, but I don’t know any other way to say what needs to be said.” He took a quick breath and exhaled shortly. “My life, by its very nature, is uncertainty. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay here. I don’t know when my past when what I've done is going to catch up with me. Being here, with you, in this place, it’s more than I could’ve ever imagined, could’ve ever hoped for, but it’s temporary. It has to be.” He sighed, shaking his head. “As much as I wish I could give you some certainty, some assurance of what we are, for what we might be, together, all I can say is that being here with you like this is a perfect moment. And I can only hope that I can give you the happiness, and comfort, and hope that you’ve given me over the past months together.” Bucky hesitated, his hand moving to cup her face, his thumb stroking her jawline, “Are you happy—happy here with me?”

Maggie nodded, blinking furiously, feeling near to tears. “I am.” She managed breathlessly.

It was a strange thing to admit or even think about, but yes, for the first time in a long time, she was happy. Happiness hadn’t been in the equation for a long time. Sure she’d had moments of it back when she was running the ranch by herself, and then when she’d been holed up in the Avengers Tower, she’d had brief pockets, brief flashes of happiness. First, when she’d met Becca, and then as she and Natasha had become colleagues and friends of a sort—but sustained long term happiness? That remained to be seen, but she knew right now, here in this moment with James Buchanan Barnes, she was happy, and she was content to be so. “I am happy, James Barnes, and I’m glad to be here with you here and now, no matter what the future brings.” Maggie continued, watching his expression soften as she spoked.

“I wish I could give you more certainty than that, but for what it’s worth, I’m glad for the time we have together now.”

“Me too.” She smiled, leaning in and kissing him.

He sighed into their kiss, shoulders releasing some unknown tension.

“So, is this a perfect moment then?” Maggie asked as they pulled apart, twisting her lips into a cheeky smile. 

“Are you making fun of me, doll?” Bucky commented wryly.

“No. I was asking a perfectly valid question.” She replied.

“Well, then yes, it is a perfect moment,” He answered, kissing her neck.

“And this one?”

“Yes,” He said, kissing her on the jaw, nibbling a moment on her earlobe.

“And this one?”

“Yes.” He planted another kiss along her jawline.

“And how about that one?”

He kissed her full on the mouth, his hand cupping the back of her head.

Maggie chuckled into the kiss, deepening it as she draped her arms over his shoulders, the tension that had been lingering in her chest for the better part of the evening dissipating. She was happy. She was content. She was living in a beautiful, perfect moment.

Bucky was right. They’d both known that he was right, which was why they’d avoided the question like hell. What they were, and all that they could be was a moment, a blip in time. A perfect and beautiful and happy and joyous moment, but like all moments, it would pass sooner than they wished. Soon enough, they’d be left to face the cold, cruel reality of the world they’d both come from before this moment had started. What came after was unknown and uncertain, but Maggie was sure they’d face that together. For now, though, that didn’t matter. This moment was theirs, and they would treasure and safeguard their moment, for as long as they could, and they’d to that together, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO what did we think? Dear heavens y'all, I'm so sorry it's taking me forever with these chapters, but the state of the world at the present is slowing me down something considerable. I hope to be able to post again soon. In the meantime, I hope everyone is healthy and safe, and that you find some kind of comfort, solace, or escape with this fic.
> 
> Until next time, Happy reading!


	19. Preparing for the Inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> T.W. For: Blood, body horror
> 
> Recommended Listening: Mr. Sandman by SYML, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road Cover by Sara Bareilles, Help Me Make it Through the Night by Willie Nelson, I’ll be good by Jaymes Young
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=fGYJhDgyS1SO7pfVrOEMsg

_She could hear the dripping of condensation and feel the stale air catch in her lungs. The smell of rot and decay thick in her nose, threatening to make her stomach turn._

_Her heart pounded in her chest, thudding in her ears, threatening to choke her._

_ Her footsteps seemed to disappear without a sound, light a mere pinprick as her eyes strained in the murky darkness, both hands outstretched as they tried to feel their way through the tunnel._

_The tunnel It was always the tunnel, and she knew what lay beyond. She could hear it, so quiet at first it was almost beyond her perception—the buzz of electricity, the grinding of metal on metal, and the sound of desperate screams._

_She was underground, three stories underground, in that hidden tunnel behind the munition’s shelves. Sam and Steve were on the com, she could call the, for back up if she needed, but she wouldn’t, there wasn’t time, and wasn’t air to expend to call for help. _

_Staggering down the hallway, Maggie felt her pace quicken as the screaming grew louder and increased in intensity._

_The tunnel widened as she knew it would, with the file cabinets and the desks. There were shadows somehow, in the dim light from the three windowed doors, and the shadows danced like phantoms, going about their cruel and dark business, the phantom squeaking of the file cabinets, the tapping of pens, the hushed murmur of conversation, even while the screaming continued. _

_Rushing to the center door, she threw her body weight against it. The scraping had ceased, but the screaming filled her ears, overwhelming her senses. _

_“I’m coming! I’m coming for you. Hold on, Bucky! Just hold on!” She tried to shout, but it came out as no more than a weak croak as she rammed her shoulder over and over against the door, trying to force it open. _

_The screaming on the other side stopped, the lock gave way, and Maggie stumbled into the room which had fallen completely silent._

_Grimy dingy light flickered from the florescent bulbs overhead, and Bucky sat perfectly still in the center of the room, strapped down to the chair. He was shirtless. His left shoulder was bloody with claw-like marks at the seam between flesh and metal. _

_Then, she saw it, or rather her mind allowed her to see it, the arm, glinting in the dim light, straining against the restraints, even as he remained motionless._

_“Bucky?” Maggie breathed, as her hands pulled the bandana away from around her mouth and nose, and she took a faltering step toward him. “Bucky, I’m here. I’ve come to get you out of here.” She said, reaching impulsively for the thick metal and leather straps that secured him into the horrible device._

_He recoiled as she moved toward him, his face and eyes down, his fists clenched as his chest heaved, glistening with sweat and condensation from the humidity in the room._

_“I’m not here to hurt you, I’m going to help you, Bucky please let me help you.” She could hear the pleading in her voice, her hands shaking. “James? James, please.”_

_At this, his head snapped to her, his brow furrowed, his eyes looking at her, but they were seeing through her. His expression blank and horrible. _

_Terror coursed through her body like an electric shock, but she knew that she was too late. Knew that she had failed him, had failed all of them. _

_Maggie opened her mouth to scream but found she couldn’t, moved to tap her finger to the com, but found it was gone. She wanted to turn, wanted to run, wanted to do anything to get out of this horrible place, away from his empty dead gaze, but was frozen, practically welded to the spot. _

Then, just as she thought she might suffocate Maggie jerked awake with a gasp. Tears streamed down her face, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

She put her hands to her mouth to stifle the sobs that might escape her clenched teeth. She was in Wakanda. She was safe. Bucky was safe. She knew she only had to reach out and touch him, and he would wake up, ask her what was wrong, and then hold her to him until she fell back asleep.

But she wouldn’t. Just as she hadn’t the other sleepless, nightmare dotted nights. He didn’t need to worry about her or be troubled by her overactive imagination.

She’d been having this dream, or variations on it, for three weeks. It was always that tunnel. It was always that room. It was always her with the Winter Soldier. Tonight had been different. Tonight was the first time he’d looked up at her with those horrible empty eyes, the first time she’d known for sure that she’d failed the man sitting there.

_Failed_. I _failed_ him. I failed everyone. It was such a strong and powerful emotion that even as she lay their quietly, she could feel the weight of it on top of her, threatening to crush her.

_What does it mean?_ That was the next thought that popped into her mind. She didn’t want to know, didn’t want to contemplate what it might mean. She was scared, scared of what it might reveal about her, and her subconscious fears.

At any rate, it wasn’t a reason to bother Bucky. There was no point in waking him up with her overactive imagination. Not when it involved dredging up his past, their past when they didn’t need to.

She was safe, they were safe, and that was all that mattered.

Regulating her breathing, she lowered her hands as her heart stopped racing and tried to put the dream out of her mind.

After all. It was only a dream.

-

Bucky lay quietly as Mags settled back under the blanket, her chest slowly rising and falling as she fell back asleep. She didn’t know he wasn’t sleeping. She didn’t know that he knew about her nightmares.

He was no stranger to that. There had been more than one occasion that he’d woken them both up screaming. There was no shame in nightmares. He knew instinctively this was true, and after everything she’d been through, read, and seen, it was a wonder that she hadn’t had them before. Yet in the past weeks, she’d had them frequently, and although Bucky knew he should ask her about them, ask what he could do to help, ask what was causing them, he knew that she would dismiss it as nothing. She wouldn’t dare admit to having fitful dreams, because Bucky knew she wouldn’t want to bother him with that.

Bucky also knew that he wasn’t entirely without guilt in that category. He knew she wouldn’t want him to worry about her. It was the same reason that he hadn’t told her about the upcoming tests. The reason he hadn’t told her about Steve’s impending visit. The reason he hadn’t told her he, Steve, King T’Challa, and the Princess Shuri were going to test prosthetic prototypes. The reason why he hadn’t given her an option to come with him, despite the Princess’s insistence on her presence during this process.

He wanted to keep her as far away from any of that shit as possible.

He’d known for about a month now and had been trying to find a time to talk with her about what was going on. Now, Steve was arriving tomorrow, and he still didn’t know what he was going to say to her but knew better than to let Steve show up unannounced. Yet he hadn’t been able to make himself bring the subject up, couldn’t even bear to imagine the look of resigned understanding on her face.

They’d been living in a dream, imperfect but beautiful, and now the reality of the world, the reality of what he truly was, was about to rear its ugly head. After everything that she’d been through for him and because of him, Mags deserved peace, deserved to live out her life without another worry or care. That wasn’t going to happen if he was in her life. He didn’t want to believe it, he didn’t want even to ponder the notion, but he knew it was true. So, he’d waited, wanting to stretch out the long, innocent, practically carefree days that they’d shared.

Now Steve was going to be here tomorrow, and he still hadn’t summoned the courage to say what needed to be said.

Bucky watched as the sky started to lighten outside, and the first indication of dawn began to creep over the horizon. He watched her profile come into focus, the quilt she’d made for them draped over her torso, her hair in its long braid laying limply framing the curve of her back. He wanted to reach out to her, stroke her face, and kiss the crown of her head and whisper his good mornings. He wanted to continue to pretend that everything was okay, that he was okay, that things were normal, that _he_ was normal.

Instead, he pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and crept silently out into the yard, where he restarted the cooking fire and put a pot of coffee on to boil.

He had to tell her. He knew he had to tell her. There wasn’t going to be many more opportunities, and she deserved to know. She’d deserved to know the moment he’d found out. Yet here they were.

“Coffee’s almost done.” He called over his shoulder, as mags emerged from the hut, their quilt wrapped around her shoulders.

“Sounds good.” She murmured, walking to where he crouched next to the fire, came up behind him and kissed his neck, wrapping her arms across his shoulders.

“How’d you sleep?” He asked.

“Tossed and turned,” She shrugged, executing the lie smoothly. “You?”

“About the same.”

“In that case, I think we should demand a do-over, crawl back into bed, and try this whole getting out of bed and being productive thing again tomorrow.” Mags chuckled softly in his ear, her breath warm, and tickling the back of his neck

“Tempting, but you and I both know we have obligations to take care of.” He replied, turning his head Mags kissed his cheek.

“You’re no fun.”

“I know, but you know I’m right.”

“Yes. I know, and here I thought I was the overly practical one.”

“If you _were_ the overly practical one, you’d realize staying over on weeknights is bad for your productivity.”

Mags smiled with a quiet laugh. “And I thought you enjoyed having me over regardless of the night of the week.”

“Oh, I do. It’s just _incredibly _difficult getting out of bed when you’re in it.”

“It would be awkward to have to explain to Sam, Steve, and the gang how we got fired for failure to show to work.”

“It would be.”

Maggie nodded, “Speaking of, have you had any contact with Steve recently? I’d like to get a message to Sam. Maybe we can put something together for both of them.”

Bucky hesitated but knew that there wasn’t going to be another opportunity for him to tell her without bringing it up on his own. “Actually, Steve’s coming in early tomorrow. He can get your message to Sam if you want.”

“Oh. Well. That’s cool. Is Steve coming in for his birthday?” Skepticism and uncertainty in her voice.

“Not exactly,” Bucky winced internally.

“What do you mean?”

He rose and turned to face her squarely. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. The Princess wants me to come in for my brain scan early this month so that she and I can test prosthetic prototypes that she’s worked up.”

“Oh. Well, that’s cool. I’m glad Steve will be here with you for that.”

“The Princess would like you both to be present, if at all possible. The princess has a couple of questions about construction and attachment, and since you were the last one with access to both my medical files from Hydra and the last one to administer repairs to the mechanics to the last prosthesis.” He said, trying his best to be as upbeat and succinct as possible.

“Oh. Yes. Of course. Happy to provide assistance in any way you may need.” Her voice was light, but her expression was drawn.

“I’d like you to be there too.” He rushed, taking her hand in his.

Maggie nodded, a crease between her brow, rising concern on her face. “You okay?” She asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine. It’s just that I’ve been meaning to tell you. I just didn’t want you to be worried or concerned that there was something wrong.” He said, feeling like each word was going to trip over the next.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No.”

“Okay.” She said firmly. “I’m glad, and of course I’ll go. This is a big step.”

“Thank you.”

“How long have you known?”

“About a month.”

Mags inhaled a long breath and nodded, “Well, next time, a bit of advanced warning would be appreciated so that I have time to move my stuff out.”

“Move your stuff out? What? Why?”

“If Steve’s here, I don’t want him to have to find alternate accommodations when I have a perfectly good place of my own.” She chuckled, going on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I’m not dumping you, James Barnes, I just wanna give you and Steve space while you go through this.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you and Steve—” He stopped himself.

“That’s something for you and Steve to discuss. If you both decide to invite me into your bed, then that’s another conversation altogether.”

“I understand,” He nodded. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re second to Steve.”

“Am I? Second to Steve?” She asked lightly, but there was a barb in her tone.

“No. You’re not.” He exhaled a slow and shaky breath. _Then why didn’t you tell me when you found out?_ That was the unasked question, and so he charged forward. “I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told you sooner.”

“I know you know, which is why I’m trying not to be upset.” She admitted. “I can’t imagine how difficult all of this must be, and I wanna be there for you and support you to the best of my ability, but I can’t do that if I don’t know what’s going on.”

_Like your nightmares?_ He wanted to bite back but refrained. Bad dreams weren’t the same as getting a new arm, nor was it the time or place to be childish and petty. There would be an appropriate opportunity to address her nightmares once this thing with the prosthesis testing was settled.

“I know. I’m sorry.” It was all he could say.

“Like, if you don’t want me involved, that’s another thing, and I understand that too. I did tell you that I would defer to you and look to you for guidance on what you wanted or needed when it came to your disability.” Maggie squeezed his hand. “Just tell me what you need from me, so I can make this as easy for you as possible.”

“Yeah, you did tell me that, but that was before we became us,” He shook his head. “You’re important to me, and I want you there. I just-we-well, the arm means, I—I mean it’s a step forward.” He faltered into silence, taking a deep breath. “It’s a big step. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know how you’d take it. I didn’t want—” _to hurt you_. He couldn’t finish the thought. Could bear to contemplate all of the horrible things that his previous prosthesis meant and all the difficult things this new one could mean for everyone.

“I know.” She soothed, putting her hand on top of his, enclosing his hand in both of hers. “But we’re going to get it figured out, as a team, you, me, Steve, The Princess, and the Royal Wakandan Labs. Okay?”

Bucky nodded firmly, looking into her earnest and honest expression. “Okay.” He echoed.

“Good. Now, I do believe the coffee should be done, and we’re probably going to be starting our day a little later than Jelani and Omondi would like. We should get going. Plus, I have to get some of my stuff back to Jelani’s village before tomorrow. A busy day.” She reached up and pecked him on the cheek, releasing his hand from her grasp.

“Yeah.” He agreed, watching as she moved away and started about their morning routine.

They proceeded through the steps, but Bucky could tell her heart wasn’t in it, and instead, she moved almost mechanically, her mind far and away.

She did not sing, did not hum. The whole of the jungle had fallen silent.

What was she thinking? Was that regret in her expression? Regret that she’d trusted him? Regret that she’d gotten involved with him? Or was it something else?

His therapist would’ve been upset with him had she been there. Open communication, ability to talk honestly and openly during a crisis, that’s what made for a strong, healthy relationship. Right now, they were failing at that.

Maybe he didn’t want to know, which was why he hadn’t asked why he hadn’t told her until very nearly the last minute. Perhaps the truth would be too much to bear, for both of them.

They didn’t talk as they made and consumed breakfast, as they dressed, or even as he watched Maggie pack away her clothes in a tight, tidy bundle. After all, what was there to say? What could he say that would make any of this better?

He was scared. He knew he was scared. It was why he’d withheld that information from her for as long as he had. Yet as scared as he was, he couldn’t begin to imagine what might be going on in her head.

Yes, he was scared about getting a new prosthesis, scared of what that might mean for him and his future. But then there was Mags. She was only in Wakanda, only in this entire situation because of him. What would it mean for her and her future when he was re-outfitted and sent back out there on a mission? What would happen to her? Would she be allowed to leave? Where would she go? Where could she go? He had Steve and Natasha to look out for him when he was out there. Steve had him and Sam. Natasha had always been able to take care of herself but would accept their help if she needed it. Mags was a great many things and had survived so much, but she shouldn’t be made to endure any more hardships or trials on his behalf. Could he ensure that if he went back out there? Could he ensure her safety if he stayed?

“So I’m gonna head out now. I’ll let Jelani know I would be in tomorrow, and if it’s all right with you, I can stay the night so we can go to the Labs together for the appointment.”

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

“All right. Then I’ll see you tonight,” She quickly kissed him, before stepping back and surveying him with her careful and steady gaze. Making her assessment, Mags took his hand in hers, “We’re going be okay. But are _you_ okay?”

“I don’t know. Yes. I think.” He admitted truthfully though he regretted his decision as Mags’s expression became somehow even more grave.

“I can stay if you want. If you need.”

“No. I have work to get done here, and you have things to take care of as well.” Bucky answered wearily, resisting the temptation to tell her to stay so that they could crawl back into bed together and forget what was coming just over the horizon.

Mags nodded. Then without prompting, she reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him close. He could hear her breath hitch in her chest and sense the slightest shake in her shoulders. Yet, when they parted after a long moment, there were no tears in her eyes. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?” She asked earnestly.

“That sounds good, Mags.”

“Sounds good.” She echoed.

Then without a word, she picked up her bundle and went to where her horse, Skywalker, was waiting to be saddled. Quickly saddling the horse, she glanced back with a quick smile and a wave before she mounted and started back toward Jelani’s village.

The day passed in a fog as he did, he is best not to think about what tomorrow would bring, and tried to put his mind at ease. _It’s only testing. It’s only testing and fitting. It doesn’t mean anything. _He tried in vain to remind himself.

_And then? What then?_ That was a question he didn’t want to contemplate but so desperately wanted an answer to.

Maggie returned mid-afternoon on foot with confirmation that she’d be allowed off for tomorrow, and well wishes from Jelani, Teela, and a few other villagers. Then they set about the task of preparing for dinner and cleaning in preparation for Steve’s arrival in the morning and the appointment shortly after.

They didn’t talk. They didn’t listen to music. they cooked, they ate, they cleaned, and then as the sun went down, they got ready for bed. The night air was hot, and by silent agreement, they stripped down and lay in bed completely naked so that the cool breeze that blew through the village might be able to cool them down more effectively. Though, this might have been materially helped had they not been holding one another, practically clinging to the other person’s skin, just to maintain skin to skin contact, memorizing the lines of each other. Mags nestled in the crook of his arm, and Bucky ran his fingers up and down her spine between her shoulder blades, while her right arm lay across his chest, her hand placed gently but firmly over his heart.

Sleep evaded them, even as they so desperately tried to let it overtake them. Instead, they just held one another, lost in their private world of thoughts, both of them wondering what the day before them would bring, while simultaneously willing the sun to never rise.

But the sun did rise, and Bucky received a message that Steve’s quinjet was in Wakandan airspace. Stirred from her light slumber, Maggie wordlessly disentangled herself from him and dressed before heading outside to make a quick breakfast.

He joined her after a moment, quickly eating and washing before they headed for the feed cart, which would take them to the city on its daily round.

“You all right? How’d you sleep?” He asked quietly as Mags settled beside him, her expression calm and smooth, even as her leg bounced anxiously, her hands clenched together.

“I’m all right. A little tired, I didn’t get much sleep.” She admitted. “You excited about seeing Steve?”

“It’ll be nice to see him, all things considered,” He shrugged, trying not to let the leaden note of dread weigh too heavily in his voice.

_Steve’s not here on personal business. This is to make sure everything goes well at the test and fitting._

But Maggie didn’t need to know that.

“Well, once we get the appointment business done and over with, I hope you and Steve get to spend some time together. You both deserve it.” She commented lightly.

Bucky nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat, really unsure of what to say in response that would come out as self-loathing or unkind.

As if sensing this, Mags grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. “We’re all right Bucky, this is going to be productive in the long run, and for today we’re just going to make it work.”

She was trying to be upbeat and positive, but even he could see that she was nervous. What surprised him, and what he’d expected by now, is for her to ask the question. The question, the only question that mattered. Did he even want a prosthesis?

It was a question to which he didn’t have an answer. A question that he and his therapist had been trying to work on and work through with little avail.

He didn’t know what he wanted when it came to that. He’d never really been given a choice one way or another the first time around. The arm, the prosthesis, had been forced on him by Hydra and then been forcibly removed by Stark. Everything in between had been akin to a waking nightmare.

Now he had a choice. A choice that didn’t feel like a choice. A choice between retiring, staying hidden in this beautiful country and finding peace at the cost of his conscience for all that he’d done. Or he resumed fighting side by side with Steve, doing what he’d been trained to do by Hydra and had perfected over a lifetime, only now to atone for his sins at the cost of his soul and his peace. It was a choice between finding out what he could be, free of the Winter Soldier or working to reconcile what he’d been and what he’d become by working to make right the wrongs he’d perpetrated.

Not much of a choice and one he knew would likely be made for him, sooner than anyone cared to think about. So better to be prepared for the inevitable than being left scrambling when choices had to be made. Which is what had led them here.

He was anxious, nervous, worried even, not just about what the arm _meant_, but what the arm might do to him, mentally, even physically, what the arm might dredge up in his memories, what nightmares it might create.

Bucky had asked the Princess to do everything she could do to minimize the similarities between her replacement and the Hydra original.

She had balked at the idea that she would produce _anything _as shoddy, impractical, and unstylish as the one he’d been ‘gifted’ previously. She'd then assured him, that aside from, of course, being an arm, her prototypes would bare no discernible resemblance.

Still, he hadn’t seen what she’d worked up, and now he was going to be fitting and testing the things with an audience. It wasn’t an ideal situation. What he could remember of the last time he’d been fitted for a prosthesis, it hadn’t been pleasant, and the idea of there being so many people around in the lab was causing an uptick in his anxiety, which constricted in his chest and around his lungs.

“Should I have brought the journals?” Maggie inquired, pulling him from his thoughts.

“What?”

“Oh. The journals. The ones I gave you back in November.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I should’ve brought them? They’re the best documentation I have of what I’ve seen both as far as the internal mechanics of the Hydra prosthesis as well as what I saw of your medical records.” She explained.

“Oh. No.” He shook his head. “I showed them to her already. She wanted to talk with you about potentially accessing your memories to get at the _actual_ documents themselves.”

“Oh.”

It was such a short, tiny word, but she wielded it with expert precision like a scalpel. If that was her intention, he didn’t know, but again he felt a pang of guilt and frustration at his own stupidity. He’d dropped all of this one her at the last minute, and now he was forcing her into a situation with minimal intel, no preparation, and necessary supplies. “I’m sorry, Mags.”

“Again, a bit of forewarning would be appreciated next time, Barnes.” She chuckled, shaking her head, as her thumb continued to run circles on the back of his hand. “But, as I said, I’m happy to help in this endeavor in any way I can.”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“For coming with me, doing this with me and for me.”

“Of course, what sort of partner would I be if I didn’t?”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond but was cut off as the cart came to a stop. Maggie tensed a moment, but a small smile then tugged at the corner of her mouth. “What?” He asked uncertainly.

“Here’s looking at you, kid.”

Bucky chuckled weakly, nodding, he kissed her forehead, and they both sat a moment in silence.

The silence was broken by the buzz of his kimoyo bracelet, and he exhaled sharply as they pulled away from each other, Maggie releasing his hand. “Steve’s with the king in the royal labs, so they’re just waiting on us.”

“Well, I guess we shouldn’t keep them waiting, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Hey, the faster we get this done, the sooner you can go back to being the strange white one-armed goat herder.” She teased, kissing his cheek before hopping down from the cart, and thanking the cart driver as he followed behind her.

It wasn’t a far walk to the royal labs, and when they arrived in the lobby, they were immediately barraged by the Princess. “Heyi! White boy! Cowgirl!” She waved them over to the lift.

“Princess.” Bucky nodded as he felt Maggie somehow tense up further.

“Your dear Captain is already in the lab with my brother, checking out the tech I’ve worked up for you. Are you sure you can’t talk him into letting me build a suit for him? His is so _shabby. _It looks terrible.”

“I’m afraid you can make Steve Rogers do a single damn thing he doesn’t want to do. Trust me, but I will bring it up with him again.” Bucky answered with a chuckle.

“Magdalene,” She turned to Mags, who went sheet white. “Thank you so much for coming, your journals have been tremendously helpful, but I need to take a peek at your memories to get a little more detail. If that is all right with you, I’ll do that after I’ve scanned White Boy’s brain and we've concluded a majority of the fitting.”

“Sounds good.” Maggie stammered as they stepped onto the lift that would take them down to the lab levels.

“This is her first time back since I healed her bullet wound. Let’s see if we can’t give her a better experience, eh White Boy?”The princess continued.

_Oh, fuck me, Barnes, you stupid son of a—. _How could he have been so stupid? How could he have not realized that her arrival in Wakanda would’ve been the last time Mags would’ve been in the labs? He cut himself off, as Mags laughed, “Well, your highness, let me just say, I’m glad it didn’t take getting gutshot again to be invited back into your laboratory.”

“You are welcome to come back the next time he has his brain scan if you want a proper tour. I could even show you some of the deep space telescopes we have on the roof some time if you’d like.” She said, “And please call me Shuri, I don’t know why White Boy hasn’t dropped all the niceties.”

“You’ve seen the inside of my brain, kid, I think you’re more than deserving of my respect and admiration,” Bucky answered dryly.

Before the princess could respond with a quip of her own, the lift doors opened, and they emerged out into the lab. It was strange. It was quiet and only the sound of low voices could be heard, when typically there were at least a dozen of Wakanda’s top scientists working at their various stations while the Princess blared Wakandan Hip-hop over the speakers.

“Brother! Captain! I have brought them!” The Princess called out as she led them down to her workbench.

Bucky glanced at Mags to find that her expression had changed. It was a subtle change, but startling none the less as all the tension and anxiety seemed to slip away replaced by something approaching a calm sureness. It was a mask. There was no way it wasn’t. Yet, Bucky was torn between wanting to share that calm, fake though it may be, and wishing more than anything that she didn’t _have to _pretend she was okay. He never wanted her to have to pretend, not ever, but specifically not when it pertained to him.

“Buck?” He looked up to see Steve walking toward him, The King a fair distance away, watching them from afar.

“Steve,” Bucky chucked, as they met in an embrace.

“How you been?” Steve breathed into his hair as they held one another. The softness in his voice barely masking the tension Bucky could feel radiating off of the other man.

“Good. Doing all right.” They pulled away just far enough to survey each other’s faces. Steve looked as exhausted as Bucky felt, his hair and beard still slightly damp from the shower he’d just taken, the clothes just ill-fitting enough to know they were loaners from the Wakandans. “How you holding up?”

“Not too bad.” Steve shrugged, maintaining Bucky’s gaze, so close it would only take a breath for their lips to meet.

Then the princess cleared her throat. “When you are done, I need to take White Boy #1 for a brain scan before we can begin with the fitting and testing for the day if that’s all right with White Boy #2 and Cowgirl?”

“Yeah.” Steve chuckled, nodding as they stepped apart.

“I’ll be right back,” Bucky assured Steve.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep him out of trouble,” Mags chimed in as he started following the princess away from the group.

“Good luck with that, Mags,” Bucky called over his shoulder and was greeted with the sounds of chuckles from Steve and Mags as they disappeared from his line of sight.

“So when did you tell her?” The princess asked when he’d hopped up on the table, and she’d started the pre-scan procedures.

“Yesterday morning.” He replied, knowing that lying would be a moot point.

“She seems to be handling everything well.” She continued, “You didn’t tell her I’d be in her brain, did you?”

“I told her you wanted to talk to her about accessing her memories,” Bucky answered.

“And what did she say?”

“Bit of forewarning would’ve been nice, but that she’s happy to help any way she can.”

“She must really love you, White Boy. I don’t know a woman alive who’d put up with the half the shit she does for you.”

“She’s a good person.”

“And she’s in love with you. She deserves something nice after we’re done here.”

“Yeah, I take your meaning,” He exhaled slowly, watching the holographic projection overhead.

“You going to be okay?” The Princess inquired.

“I think so?”

“You don’t have anything to worry about. We have safety measures and redundancies in place, you shouldn’t experience anything _unpleasant._” She soothed.

_I’m not the one I’m worried about._ He would’ve said had it not been a total lie verging on cavalier arrogance. “Thanks. I appreciate it, Princess.”

The rest of the scan passed without comment, and they walked back out to the workbench where The King, Steve, and Mags were waiting for them. “His brain looks good and healthy, well within normal readings, for him.” The Princess announced. “Shall we go ahead and begin with the fitting and the testing?”

He nodded.

“Let's go over to my workbench so I can show you what I’ve worked up for you.” She said lightly, leading him over to where she worked.

Bucky stopped as the table where the prototypes were set up and had to keep himself from laughing outright. There were five of them laying on the table. Each painted a different neon color. In addition to the different colors, each of the prosthesis’ hands was holding up a different number of fingers.

“Any particular reason why you have them holding up a different number?” He asked.

“I may have gotten slightly carried away.”

_Well, they certainly don’t look like my previous model. _He commented to himself. His eyes fixated on the different prototypes.

“So, where would you like to start?” She inquired gently.

“Huh?” He tore his gaze away and looked into her inquisitive expression.

“It’s going to be your arm. Pick whichever you want to try out first.” She smiled. It wasn’t quite a laugh, but he appreciated the gentle encouragement.

“Oh. Umm.” He hesitated to glance around at the expectant face observing him. “What’s the difference between them?”

“The fit, weight, size, there are some minor internal differences, but we’re focusing on your comfort and fit today. Other metrics will enter the equations once we determine the best fit for you.”

“Ah. Okay, well, we can start with the first one then.”

The princess nodded, “well, pick it up, take a look. Give me your first impressions. Anything that jumps out at you, anything that immediately draws your attention that you’d like me to address.”

_Just like that? _Certainly, there was some sort of protocol, some step that he was missing. _Was this allowed? _He felt as if he was doing something wrong, or that he’d be reprimanded for picking it up the wrong way. Glancing up into The Princess’s eager expression, he swallowed hard and nodded before approaching the table.

This wasn’t what he’d expected at all. Then again, he didn’t have a good basis for comparison either.

Wrapping his fingers around the forearm, near the elbow of the first probe his, he took it in hand and started his inspection.

It was heavier than he’d expected, and the metal was surprisingly warm rather than cold to the touch. The prosthesis was awkward to manipulate with one hand. However, he found that unlike the hydra model, the plates didn’t move and slide and pinch the same way, and instead, the surface seemed smooth while still very clearly having plates that allowed for movement. How that was going to work, he didn’t know. Otherwise, there wasn’t anything that immediately jumped out at him, nothing _wrong _other than the fact that the prosthesis would enable him to resume his life as an assassin and super-soldier when he was far more content to herd goats for a living.

He didn’t _feel _anything one way or another. He thought perhaps he might have some surge of emotion, anger, hatred, or fear even. Instead, there was a sudden void of emotion inside of him as he surveyed the piece of machinery in his hand. It was a tool, nothing more, nothing less until it was given further purpose.

“Nothing immediately comes to mind.” He told the princess who was waiting with bated breath for his initial reaction.

“So are you ready to try it on then?

“Yeah, I guess so.” Bucky nodded.

“All right. Give it here.” She extended both hands, taking the prosthesis from him. “I’m going to need you to take a seat on the examination table and remove your scarf and the joint cap while I prepare the arm for fitting.”

“My shirt?” He asked.

“No, that can stay on. I haven’t added any fastening mechanisms that would require me full access to your chest and back.” She answered casually.

Bucky exhaled a shaking breath and sat on the examination table. It was only then that he had an opportunity to take in the faces of the assembled group who watched him silently from their posts. The King stood the farthest away and did the best at concealing the fact that he was watching him. Instead, his attention seemed to be focused upon a mechanism at one of the other work tables, but Bucky could see the way he was poised, ready to leap into action at the first indication of trouble. Steve, on the other hand, was the closest, right next to him at the table standing to his right, and watching him with those big soulful eyes, his hands were clenched and shoved in his pockets, concern and focus knit between his brow. Mags stood off to the side, her face trained in a smooth neutral expression, her mouth a thin line, her eyes were hard, her arms wrapped around her torso.

His eyes focused on her the longest, determined to catch her gaze, and when he did, she flashed a quick smile and an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Bucky returned her smile with a slight nod of acknowledgment before slipping the scarf over his head and removing the joint cap, setting both off to the side, grateful somehow that he didn’t have to take off his shirt too. He felt exposed enough as it was, the added insult being naked from the chest up might have sent him over the edge.

“So. I’ve put a Kimoyo bracelet on the prosthesis, so it will be able to gather important data. _However,_ my data is less important than your comfort. If at any point anything pinches, hurts, stings, or just doesn’t feel right, tell me, and we can identify the problem and minimize your discomfort. Okay, White Boy?”

“Sounds good, Princess.” He nodded. He could tell he was holding his breath. His hand clenched around the edge of the examination table. This was the part he’d dreaded. This was the part he hadn’t wanted to think about. Now he was here, and he wanted to close his eyes, wanted to look away, but he couldn’t take his eyes of the prosthesis as the princess approached him.

“This may bear some resemblance to your foot falling asleep, but the sensation should pass in a couple of seconds.” She announced, hoisting the prosthesis to the joint socket. The artificial ball joint met the inner attachment mechanisms of the arm with a click, and the Princess stepped away.

There was silence, and Bucky winced, bracing for whatever was going to come next. Then he paused, unclenched his hand, and looked down at the prosthetic hand, side by side with his own. “That’s it?” He glanced up at the Princess, who was watching him closely. A holographic chart was pulled up on her Kimoyo bracelet showing readouts and levels for whatever it was she was measuring.

“That’s it. I haven’t created any locking mechanisms to keep the arm from being removed, so it will slide on and off easily with a firm tug if you need to get it off quickly.” She answered. “Why, is there something wrong?”

“No. No.” He shook his head, lowering his gaze back down to the bright neon pink hand, which he flexed and rotated with ease. “I just thought there would be more to it than that.”

“Obviously, this is a first test. Once we finalize the design, I would create a more secure system to keep any unwanted removal from occurring.”

“Makes sense,” Bucky replied.

“How does it feel, Buck?” He looked up into Steve’s concerned gaze.

“It’s heavy, but not quite as heavy as the Hydra model.” He answered, and Mags released some of the breath she was holding. 

“You can stand up if you’d like, rotate your shoulder, and move your hands and arms naturally,” The Princess instructed.

Bucky rose, feeling slightly off balance by the new addition of weight. He could feel it tugging at his spine, though not as much as the Hydra model. Rotating his shoulder, he winced as the back edge of the prosthesis rubbed against his skin.

“Ah. I saw that James Barnes.” The Princess rushed, “So no to number one. Back on the table.” She instructed.

On and on, the rest of the appointment went. The princess collected her data, while he tried on the remaining four prototypes doing several small tasks, like picking up and putting down a variety of objects that ranged in weight size and density. Steve and Mags watched on quietly offering their encouragement. Then, ultimately something or another pinched or hurt, and the princess demanded that he move on to the next one. “Now!” The princess said as she removed the fifth arm. “Out of all of the prosthesis you’ve tried today, which one do you think was the best fit for you?”

Bucky paused, watching as she placed the fifth arm back on the table, straining to think through everything he’d experienced over the past three almost four hours. “Number four, I think. Why? Is that what your data concluded?”

“Doesn’t matter what my data concludes. It’s your arm, James Barnes.” She answered. “Now, I’m going to put that one back on you, and then take Magdalene for her scan. Shouldn’t take too long, but I want to give you a chance to experiment with the prosthesis a bit when not under the creator's eye. I expect observations when I get back.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He agreed, allowing the Princess to attach the fourth prosthesis again, a neon blue, and flexed as the buzzing sensation quickly dissipated.

“Come on, Ms. Ramirez, this won’t take but a couple minutes.” She instructed, and Maggie nodded, following behind her and out of sight without looking back.

“How you holding up?” He asked, glancing over at Steve, who hadn’t left his side the entire duration of the appointment.

“All right. You?” Steve replied, glancing down at the neon blue prosthesis that was currently attached to Bucky’s shoulder. “How’s that?”

“Interesting,” Was all he could manage, looking down at the hand as he flexed it before back up at Steve, who was watching him intently. “How was the flight in?”

“Uneventful,” Steve said, his gaze momentarily drifted the direction that The princess and Mags had disappeared. “You and Ramirez…” He faced off unsure of how to continue.

“Yes.” Bucky nodded, standing back up, he rotated the prosthesis, wiggling the fingers of both his right hand and the prosthetic one. 

“Good. I’m glad.” Steve said, leaning against the examination table, crossing his arms, his eyes never leaving him. “She’s an amazing woman.”

“She’s too good for me,” Bucky blurted out before he could stop himself. He looked back up at Steve, “And before you contradict me, no. She’s too good for me.”

“Hey. You said it, not me.” Steve chuckled, putting his hands up.

“How do you think she’s holding up?” Bucky asked gravely.

“Don’t know for sure. She has one hell of a poker face.” Steve admitted. “How’d she take it when you told her?” He asked.

“All right.” Bucky shrugged.

Steve’s expression furrowed as he inspected him. “Buck, _when_ did you tell her?”

“Yesterday.” Bucky could feel the leaden dread in the word as he said it, and this feeling was only intensified by Steve’s suddenly very pained expression. “How bad did I fuck up?”

“Couldn’t say.” Steve shook his head.

“Bullshit, Steve.”

Steve took a deep breath, shaking his head, he glanced back over at Bucky, “From personal experience, I just know that she has a history of getting pissed when people keep things from her. How exactly she feels about this is something you and her are going to have to figure out.”

_From personal experience,_ Bucky couldn’t help but note the phrase. Meaning Steve had been on the receiving end of Mags’s wrath. About what, and exactly _how_ pissed, Steve’s explanation didn’t give much in the way of details.

“And we’re done.” The Princess announced. Bucky turned and found that she was alone. “Ms. Ramirez excused herself to use the facilities, but will be rejoining us shortly.” She explained without skipping a beat. “How are you feeling?”

“All right. Nothing pinching or stinging or pulling too hard on my spine.” He shrugged, wincing at the action.

“You’re probably going to be sore in the morning. Your body isn’t used to having that additional weight again. We’ll have to work out how to minimize the strain on your spine and other muscles, but I think we’ve got a good amount of data to parse through.” She paused, “Ms. Ramirez had a question about sensation. What sensations are you feeling now? And what sensations would be most useful to you both in the field as well as in everyday life?”

That would be Mags’s question. It was the question she’d asked him out in the outbuilding a lifetime ago, yet even the way The Princess said it, Bucky could hear Mags’s voice. “Pressure and weight mostly. Heat and texture would be useful. Getting it as close to “regular” sensation as possible would be ideal.” He said slowly, gaze trained on where the Princess had emerged waiting for Mags to reappear.

Was she angry with him? Bucky didn’t know, hadn’t even contemplated the idea until Steve had mentioned it. Sure she’d said she was trying not to be upset, but angry? Bucky didn’t have a clue how to talk to her about that right now, and it certainly wasn’t something he was going to bring up in the middle of everyone. However, when they were going to get a chance alone in the immediate future, Bucky also didn’t know.

The princess was still talking, and he was only catching some of it even as he tried to focus. He felt exhausted, emotionally, and physically drained, the sleepless night catching up to him with a horrible vengeance. However, he still only felt half as terrible as Steve looked, and he couldn’t imagine how he and Mags were handling this.

Mags laughed, and he felt himself jerk back into reality, his eyes focusing in on the trio before him. Somehow she’d managed to slip back in without drawing his immediate attention and was now chatting amicably with the Princess and Steve. She didn’t look angry. Her face looked a little pale, and there was some redness around her eyes. Had she been crying?

“Well. I think it’s time to wrap this up. I have more than enough data, and we can go from here.” The princess announced.

She removed the prosthesis and allowed him to return the joint cap to its place and slip his scarf back over his head. The King bade them farewell and slipped from the lab without a word. Mags and Steve chatted with each other, while he and the princess concluded their appointment.

Then, climbing into the lift together in silence, exhaustion settled over them. When they finally made it to the lobby of the lab, The princess said her goodbyes, and they were left alone.

There were several beats of silence before Mags spoke, “Well, that was _fun._ What did you two want to do now?”

They collectively exhaled, chuckling weakly between themselves. “Come here.” Bucky waved Steve and Mags into an embrace, “We did good, team,” He murmured as they hugged. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Buck.”

“Any time, James.”

“Let's get something to eat. Then we can plan out the rest of the day.”

“Agreed,” Steve said, breaking first from their embrace.

“Sounds good.” Mags chorused as she released him from her grasp.

They filed out into the bustling streets, shoulder to shoulder, Steve to his left, Mags to his right, Bucky leading the way toward his favorite Kebab stand. The tension, while it had been palpable in the lab, dissipated into a mere hum in the open air as they chat over lunch and then disappeared entirely as they made their way on foot back to the village. Mags and Steve talked about Sam and Nat and Wanda, Mags asking what they were up to, and teasing Steve mercilessly about his beard, while he and Steve picked at each other’s brains, trying to recall various factoids from their collective past.

After they arrived back in the village, Mags disappeared briefly to record a message for Sam and get a few things from her place, which provided an opportunity for him and Steve to catch a quick nap. When she returned, they started making dinner and preparing for the evening’s birthday festivities.

It was nice having them both around, watching them tease each other, laughing, smiling, and generally having a good time. Bucky wished somehow he could capture this moment forever in time, just the three of them happy and content. It would be better if Sam could’ve been here, and Nat as well. But for the moment, he was glad to have the two of them by his side, helping him through this difficult and, frankly, shitty situation.

Dinner was consumed, and dessert and coffee were well underway when Mags cleared her throat. “Now. I know you don’t do _gifts_ on your birthday, Steven Rogers, but I thought that considering this was a rather exceptional and extraordinary situation that you might amend your rule.” She said, smiling broadly.

Steve glanced at Mags and then back over at him. “Did you have anything to do with this, Buck?” He asked, dry amusement in his tone.

“I didn’t.”

“He did not know.” She said, producing a small package from her bag. “I’m not sure if Bucky has told you or not, but I’ve been learning to weave and have been pawning off all of my horrible creations off on anyone and everyone in reach.” Mags chuckled. “I wanted to give you something but figured you wouldn’t be able to keep up with a potholder, scarf, or blanket.”

Steve nodded solemnly, taking the package from her, carefully pulled back the packaging and removed the contents from inside. It was a single, thin, band, woven with a multitude of colors. From where he sat beside Steve, Bucky could see the familiar dark blues and browns, and blacks from the scarf she’d sewn for him, and the bright purples and greens that he’d seen in many of her creations for herself, before finally there was a hint of red, white, and blue woven in the center. The band was no more than half an inch across, yet the pattern was complicated, ornately decorated with metallic fibers.

“I thought it would be a way to carry a bit of Wakanda with you.” She said.

_A bit of us. _She didn’t say, yet Bucky couldn’t help but notice that was her meaning.

“Thank you, Ramirez, it’s beautiful.” Steve managed, rising he crossed the distance between them to immerse her in a deep embrace.

“Of course, Steve, happy early birthday.” She chuckled weakly, returning the hug.

They held the embrace a long time, and when they parted, Bucky could see that she was shaking. “I also made a couple for Sam, Natasha, and Wanda. I hadn’t had a chance to give Bucky his yet, and I’ve been using mine as a bookmark. So they don’t have to be worn, but I figured they’re small enough to carry without being cumbersome.” She stammered out quickly, as if fearful that if she didn’t get the words out now, they might not come out at all.

“I’m sure everyone will appreciate them. It’s very thoughtful of you.” Steve said, returning to his seat beside Bucky, picking up the band for further inspection.

Mags nodded, clearing her throat, returned to her seat across the fire from them. Something was wrong. Bucky couldn’t identify what it was, but somehow she was back in the lab again, her face gray and somber and drawn. The fingers of her right hand fiddled with the vibranium bracelet he’d given her back at the Winter Festival, her gaze focused on the fire, the flames dancing in her round, glassy eyes.

Then, her Kimoyo bracelet buzzed, making her jump. Wordlessly, she checked the message. Gritting her jaw, she glanced up and over at them. “I’m afraid I have to leave. I have a couple of things I need to attend to back in Jelani’s shop.”

“Will we see you in the morning?” Steve asked, standing up as she rose to her feet.

“I don’t know. We’re expecting a cascade of foalings here in the next few days. It may be a little busy.” Mags shook her head, “Besides, I want to give you two sometime together.” She smiled, but it was forced and thin. “It was good to see you, Steve,” She said, going up on her toes hugged him again. “Take care of Sam for me, okay?” She asked, her voice squeaky and small.

“Of course, Ramirez. Of course. I’ll get him your message and gift as well.” Steve replied softly.

“And look out for Natasha too, though heaven knows she’s more than capable of taking care of herself.” Mags rushed.

“Always,” Steve nodded as they stepped from their hug.

Something was wrong. Bucky realized as he watched. He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but something was _very _wrong.

“Be safe.” She said, earnestly, before turning to him, and only then could Bucky see that there were tears in her eyes. “I won't be around the next few days. But I’ll call when I can,” her voice was clipped as she said it as if each word was a labor to get out.

“Okay. Let me walk you to the edge of the village,” He replied, crossing the space between them.

“It’s okay. I know the way.” She smiled quickly, “You have a good evening. We’ll talk soon.” Mags kissed him before turning and walking away.

Bucky stood a moment in stunned silence as he watched her disappear down the path. Something was wrong. He _knew_ something was wrong, and yet he felt absolutely powerless to make it right. What was he supposed to do? Run after her, and demand that she tell him? She obviously didn’t want to talk to him right now, and with Steve here, it didn’t seem like the right time or place to push the issue. Yet, he knew that she wasn’t all right, that she hadn’t been okay since he told her yesterday about the fitting, and even before that with her reoccurring nightmares where she woke up screaming.

The Princess and Steve both obviously knew something was going on, and their warnings resonated in his already too noisy brain. He was going to have to make this right, how exactly he didn’t know, but Mags had been there for him, now it was his turn to step up and return the favor, in whatever way he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a surprisingly easy chapter to write but I imagine that it was exceedingly difficult to read. I do apologize for that, but just know that Bucky and Mags are going to be okay. Just some growing pains (I know a few of you just want to shake them both by the shoulders and say “Communicate you idiots” trust me I do too). 
> 
> All of this to say, I hope this fic is providing diversion and distraction, and good feelings with everything going on.
> 
> Please stay safe, stay healthy, and I hope that you and yours are well.
> 
> Until Next time, Happy Reading!


	20. Things Break Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> TW: Panic Attack, Death mention, self-harm mention, death ideation
> 
> Recommended Listening: Baby’s gotten good at leaving by George Strait; I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) by Sleeping at Last; The Horns are Fake by Fionn; Control by Halsey; Devil’s Backbone by The Civil Wars
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=TxoOmjDBSXuPMxA5uIS0dw

It had been four days since the appointment, and Bucky hadn’t heard from Mags. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had received a couple of text messages from her, confirming that she was alive, receiving his messages and that she’d come by when she had the chance. It had been fine, Steve had been with him, and as-per the conversation he’d had with Mags, Bucky knew she was trying to give them their space. Yet something nagged at the back of his mind, something in her expression and how it had changed when she’d given Steve his birthday present. Her face as she’d told him that she had to leave. It was all wrong. But she was busy, and Steve had been around, and it hadn’t been the appropriate moment to push her on anything, not when he didn’t have adequate time to devote all of his focus to the situation.

Now, it was Tuesday, Steve had come and gone, and Bucky was out on his usual feed delivery rounds. He hadn’t heard anything from her since Sunday when she’d texted to wish Steve a happy birthday and send her apologies that she would be unable to join them in any type of celebration. They hadn’t really been celebrating anything, and he and Steve had spent the evening at home together. Since Steve’s departure, he had been able to give the whole situation far more thought, and now he only hoped he’d be able to catch her long enough to have something of a conversation to figure out what the hell was going on.

“Heyi, White Wolf!” Jelani greeted as he neared the feed shed.

“Jelani,” Bucky nodded, his eyes scanning the perimeter, looking for any signs of Mags, or any inclination of the chaos that she’d described when explaining why she couldn’t breakaway. Instead, he just found Jelani lounging in the shade, feet kicked up, looking unoccupied and unconcerned with the cares and troubles of the world.

“I didn’t think we’d see you this week. How are you feeling?” Jelani continued on amicably, taking a long draw from the pipe he was smoking.

“Fine, thank you. Have you seen Ramirez?” He asked as his heart started to pound, and his mind started to race.

“No?” An audible note of curiosity and confusion in his voice. “She told us that she was going to be with you and Captain Rogers for a few days. She took Stella with her.”

“She said there was a cascade of foalings, that it was all hands on deck,” Bucky answered, the resolve in his voice weakening even as he spoke. _Fuck_. She’d lied to him. She’d lied to Jelani. And now she’d been AWOL for almost four days without anyone realizing.

Jelani, nodded, rising to his feet, brushing himself off, turned to face Bucky squarely. “I will have Sisay offload my feed, go down to her dwelling, and see if she’s there. I will ask around to see if anyone has seen her.” He said, all business in his tone, not a hint of surprise or anxiety in his words. “I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this.”

How could he be so certain? How could he be so sure?

Jelani called his son over, and Sisay appeared to haul the feed to the storage shed. “Go! Go White Wolf.” Jelani shooed as Bucky lingered uncertainly. “I will meet you down at her place if I find anything.”

Bucky nodded, turning away from the workshop, storage shed, and stalls, followed the path down to her house, every muscle in his body screaming at him to break into a run. He wanted to sprint down to her hut and find her out front making lunch, or if she wasn’t out front to throw back the curtain and find her taking a nap curled up on her sleeping mat. He prayed and hoped against hope that’s what he would find. He didn’t run, because he knew that she wasn’t going to be there. She’d lied. She’d lied to him and Jelani. Why? What had made her do that? What had happened to make her just to go to such lengths to be out of contact with everyone? She’d been texting him back regularly, why hadn’t she just told him the truth?

His mind spun and raced with the possibilities of what that meant, and what finding her might mean.

Bucky stopped in the road as he reached Mags’s hut. She wasn’t outside, the cooking fire was cold, and everything was still and undisturbed. “Mags?” He called.

There was no response, and he stepped forward, pushing aside the curtained doorway, “Mags?” He repeated, leaning through the entryway and braced himself for whatever he might find.

It was likewise empty. Was this what he’d wanted? What he’d expected? What was the worst-case scenario? Bucky didn’t know, and the swelling silence did nothing to ease the tension building in his chest.

Ducking, he entered and glanced around eyes scanning for anything that Mags might have left behind that could help him find where he’d gone. The hut was fastidiously clean. Everything put in its proper place, nothing left out or otherwise misplaced. Even the bundle of clothes that she’d taken from his place had been returned to their basket. His eyes paused in their searching a moment as they fell on her ofrenda, and met the stern porcelain expression of the Our Lady of Guadalupe statue. The dead, lifeless eyes bore into him with a disapproving glare.

Had he done something wrong?

Steve’s warning echoed in his head. He hadn’t had a chance to ask Steve to elaborate on that “personal experience” of Mags getting pissed for withholding information.

Would she react like this to him not telling her about the appointment? She’d admitted that she was trying not to be upset. Had that all been a show? Or was this something else?

_Why didn’t she just tell me?_

He tore his gaze from the statue and exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. _You can’t help her unless she talks to you, you can’t offer to help her unless she talks to you. This isn’t your fault if she won’t tell you what’s going on._

It was real rich all things considered, but it was the only thing he could do to prevent a complete spiral of, _this is my fault, I’m a horrible monster, how could I do this to her?_

Above all, above anything else, he just wanted to make sure that she was okay. He wanted to know that she was safe and that she was healthy, and they could work from there. Hell, he’d even take her pissed as hell at this point, provided that she was also safe.

_You’re not going to find her here. No matter how much you may wanna turn the place upside down looking for a clue, that’s not going to help bring her home._

Taking a deep breath, he walked back out into the hot afternoon sun, blinking at the bright light after the dimly lit hut. Combing his fingers through his hair, he paced around the fire pit.

Should he walk back up to the village or wait for Jelani? What could Jelani possibly have found out between the time Bucky had left and now?

Pausing at the sound of approaching footsteps, he looked up, half expecting to see Mags walking toward him but instead found Jelani coming down the path. “I found her.” He announced as he came into earshot.

“Safe?”

“Vitals are all stable and heart rate well within normal according to her Kimoyo bracelet. Otherwise, unclear. I was able to get a lock on her GPS signal.”

“Where?”

“She’s about ten miles off to the southeast. I’ll send you the coordinates.” Jelani extended the wrist bearing his Kimoyo bracelet, and Bucky met it with his.

There was a faint buzz as the information transferred, and Bucky pulled the map up, taking a quick look at where she was located. “Why is she that far out? Is there anything out there?”

“I know there is a beautiful ridge overlooking the plains. According to the tracker, she went there Friday evening sometime, and hasn’t strayed far from that location,” Jelani explained. “Do you want a horse?”

“You mean go after her?” Bucky asked, feeling slightly stupid as he did. Of course, he should go after her, and of course that was what Jelani meant. “I mean, do you think that’s a good idea. She very clearly went out of her way to avoid being around people. Me in particular,” He amended.

“I can’t tell you what to do, but what do you have to gain from doing nothing, versus all that you might lose if you leave her safety and wellbeing to chance?”

The old man was right. Bucky knew the old man was right. He was just fighting every fiber of his being, which focused around the idea that Mags wanted nothing to do with him, and that he shoulnd’t really exacerbate the situation further. What were his options? Sit by and do nothing and wait for her to come around? Or be proactive, reach out to her and work to talk through this sooner rather than later, while also making sure that she was okay. _She does have a history of self-harm. Do you want to leave that to chance?_

_Fuck._

He had no choice. Or rather, his choice was clear. He needed to go and make sure she was okay. He’d text her first, and go on foot rather than horseback. This wasn’t the time for heroic theatrics. She didn’t need a white knight on his valiant charger, and at any rate, he didn’t fit that description even on a good day.

“I’ll go after her on foot. Can you take care of the cart and Sally while I’m gone?” Bucky asked, adjusting his satchel around his shoulder.

“Yes. You’ll need provisions. I have a feeling you won’t be returning tonight.” Jelani nodded. “Come. Let me ensure that you can take care of our Cowgirl the best we can.” He started back up the hill, motioning for Bucky to follow.

“I’ll be right behind. I’m going to send her a text. Let her know what’s going on.”

“I wish you luck. I’ll see you off when you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replied. _I’m going to need it, _though he didn’t say.

He watched Jelani walk away before he turned to his Kimoyo bracelet and opened the messenger application. Taking a deep breath, he started to type"

_‘Mags, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m worried about you. I’d like to talk to you about it if you’d let me. Jelani helped me locate you since no one had seen you since Friday, and I’m going to walk out where you’re at, just to make sure you’re all right. I’ll see you soon, _

_ Bucky.’_

He sent the text message and immediately wondered if he’d just done the right thing. Tactically, no, it wasn’t wise to let your mark know your positions or movement until it was too late for them to do anything. But she wasn’t his mark or his target. She was the woman he loved, and right now, the most important thing to him was making sure she was okay, or as close to it as possible.

Heading up to the village again, Jelani outfitted him with necessary provisions. Then there was nothing for it. Shaking his hand, Jelani pointed him in the correct direction, and Bucky started walking. Unsure of what he would find, but certain that the journey was a necessary one, for everyone.

-

_So he’s figured it out, _was Maggie’s first thought. Which was then quickly followed by, _so do I move to try and avoid him?_

What was the point? She was on their radar, and anywhere she went, Bucky would likely come after her. _Besides,_ Maggie observed as she glanced down at the journal spread across her lap and then up and across the expansive plains of Wakanda from her place on one of the grassy ridges that jutted out over the landscape. _I have one hell of a view._

It was beautiful, peaceful, quiet. She’d come here when Bucky had pushed her away after his nightmare, and now the location had become her campsite while she tried to put her head on straight.

From this spot, she has a great view of the lush verdant plains, so wide the horizon seemed to stretch on forever. It was big and wild, and so vast that it made her feel small. Admittedly, she hadn’t spent much of her time admiring the landscape since she’d been here. Thought, it had provided an excellent backdrop for her little excursion.

She’d spent most of the first twenty-four hours crying. It had been the only thing she could do to relieve the pressure behind her eyes, pounding in her skull, screaming for some kind of release. The crying had been the only thing that seemed to coax her frantic mind into anything that resembled sleep. So she’d cried so long and hard her body eventually gave out from the exhaustion.

Maggie honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried that hard. It had been a while. Probably since Riley died, since she had allowed herself to cry like that.

When she’d cried all that she could manage, she’d then begun trying to unpack everything that had happened, everything that was going on, everything that made her skull so loud and so chaotic she thought that it might split in two.

She was, she would be willing to admit, upset that Bucky hadn’t told her about the appointment sooner. Perhaps if he had, she reasoned, she might have been more emotionally prepared for everything. Yet she could also understand his decision. If she was feeling abject terror, then she could only imagine what he was feeling about the whole situation.

_This isn’t about you. This is about helping Bucky, your friend, and romantic partner through this. _She’d reminded herself over and over. Unfortunately, this mantra hadn’t been enough to wipe the chair, the photos of the Winter Soldier “in progress,” or the dream with his dead cold eyes from her mind.

To her credit, she’d almost been able to get all the way through the appointment. Seeing Bucky and the Princess interacting with each other and with the prostheses had eased her anxiety slightly.

This wasn’t Hydra. They weren’t going to hurt him. The Wakandans were taking care and caution to make sure Bucky was in a position to consent (and withdraw consent) as well as comfortable and safe during the whole process. 

She’d managed to keep her shit together until the scan. Then the full force of recollection had hit her. Every horrifying scrap of information that she’d buried rose to the surface, hitting her with the same force as the first time she’d seen all of it.

Maggie had consented, and the princess had been clear that she would stop if Maggie wanted or needed. She’d wanted to do that for Bucky, to help the princess with the creation and design of the new prosthesis. She thought she’d be strong enough to take the pain and horror those memories had created and re-live them for Bucky’s sake. She’d been wrong. She hadn’t been strong enough to keep it together, and when the scan had concluded, Maggie had excused herself to throw up and sob in the bathroom.

She’d hoped that would be her only lapse in control. She thought she was good. Thought she’d be able to make it through the rest of the day, to try to make things normal for Bucky so that he could get through the appointment without incident, and enjoy his time with Steve.

By in large, she’d succeeded to this end. They’d had a lovely afternoon. They’d eaten lunch and walked back to the village together. Then she’d gotten an opportunity to go back to her place to freshen up, record her message to Sam, and had been in good spirits for dinner.

Maggie had been fine during dinner. She’d enjoyed dinner. It was fun to have Steve and Bucky around each other. Their laughter was fuller, their smiles broader, their jokes dirtier, and their happiness deeper and more complete together than she’d ever seen them apart.

It was like watching Sam and Riley, during the early stages of her relationship with Riley. It felt like being home.

At that point, the realization she’d been fighting all day, since the very moment Bucky had told her that the Princess wanted to do a prosthesis test and fitting hit her. She was going to have to watch Bucky die.

No, that wasn’t quite right. She was going to have to watch him go out there, in the name of protecting others, and she’d be left to wait and pray and hope he would come home, until one day he didn’t. What was worse was that she knew there was nothing she could do about it. She knew that just like she had with Riley, just as she was afraid she was going to do with Sam.

She’d lost so many people violently, horrifically, painfully. Could she bear to do the same again when she could walk away and avoid yet another heartbreak?

The thought had nearly broken here then and there, and so she’d made up that bullshit story to excuse herself and buy herself a little time to try to sort things through before speaking with Bucky again.

After the twenty-four hours that she’d spent crying and sleeping, she’d spent the remainder of her time journaling, furiously trying to unravel the tangled mess of thoughts and emotions making her head spin.

She could hear Sam’s voice, so far away now in the Argentinian jungle, _“Finding Barnes isn’t going to fix anything.” _

Maggie had known then as she knew now that “Barnes” and now Bucky was nothing but a distraction. What a wonderful distraction he’d been too. He’d filled the last months with joy and love and beauty and a strange sort of hope for the future. Yet now, at the first indication of how this was going to end, she was reminded of the horrible truth. She wasn’t going to be able to save him from what awaited him, from what awaited the both of them.

She was going to fail them, the way that she’d failed everyone else.

Failed? Failed how? Like she could somehow stop death, cure cancer, prevent terrible diseases, or stop catastrophe from striking.

_No, but you should be able to. If you were stronger, smarter, more resourceful, better than what you are. If you had done that, you could’ve saved them._

A sob welled in her chest, and she buried her face in his hands, her shoulders shaking in preparation for tears that would not fall.

What a horrible thought, Maggie knew, but it was one that she couldn’t shake. A thought that she’d thought she’d be able to ignore, one that she’d been fighting for a long time. Yet, just when she thought she’d left it behind her, she found it was there waiting for her.

_None of this would’ve happened if you’d been better._

Maggie took a deep breath, looking up and around at the beautiful landscape that surrounded her. _Should I get up and leave?_ She wondered again.

It would be a cruel thing to do and would only prolong the inevitable conversation that she and Bucky were going to have.

What was she going to say to him when she did inevitably see him? She didn’t know. She didn’t have the energy to contemplate the infinite possibilities and ways that the conversation could go. She didn’t even have the energy to avoid him. So she’d just wait here for him to find her, and let whatever was going to happen happen. However, what was going to happen next was anyone’s guess.

“Mags?”

Maggie jumped to her feet and whirled around to face where the sound had come. When her head stopped spinning from the quick motion, she found Bucky standing a couple of yards away, looking like something out of a historical romance film, although lacking the mist and period-appropriate attire. His face, however, was creased in concern as his bright blue eyes surveyed her carefully.

“Hey, Bucky,” She answered, her voice hoarse from all the crying and general disuse. Shaking her head, Maggie cleared her throat. “Hi.” She attempted again, her voice only marginally clearer.

They stood there a moment, both looking at each other before Bucky finally broke the silence. “Would you mind if I joined you?” He asked, speaking so gently Maggie was sure his words were made of glass.

“I wouldn’t mind the company,” She managed, though there was an audible wobble to her voice.

Bucky nodded, advancing a few steps before he stopped. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about the fitting. That I kept it from you and then dumped all that on you the last minute. It was wrong and unfair of me to do that to you, and I’m sorry.”

Maggie nodded, “Thank you, and I accept your apology, but you’re not the only one who hasn’t been completely honest.” Bucky shifted his weight, and she wasn’t sure if that was out of surprise or anger or just the need to shift his weight, but she plunged on. “It would be disingenuous of me not to admit that.” She took a deep breath, “I should’ve told you I needed space to process some stuff rather than running off. I should’ve told you I’ve been having nightmares involving you…you and the Winter Soldier instead of brushing it off. So it’s a lot like pot calling the kettle black to be upset over your good faith omission.” Maggie raced, waiting for him to say something, say anything. After a minute of silence, she glanced up to find Bucky watching her. His expression wasn’t angry but instead furrowed in concern.

“Mags, I just want to make sure you’re okay,” He said slowly.

Maggie looked back down, unable to meet his gaze for too long, wringing her hands together.

She could hear him take a few more steps toward her, and take a deep breath before he continued, “Whatever this is, we can get through it, as a team, but I can’t do that unless you tell me what’s going on.” He was right in front of her now, and she could see his boots in her downward gaze, and hear his steady intake and exhale of breath.

Maggie knew if she wanted, she could reach out and touch him. She wanted nothing more than to have him hold her and to be comforted in his embrace. But she knew that if she did that now, if she reached out and touched him and he drew her against him, any last shred of self-control would evaporate entirely, and she would likely crumple to the ground weeping.

“Mags, please,” He continued. “Talk to me.”

Maggie shook her head, her bottom lip trembling. “It’s okay. I can figure this out on my own. I should figure this out on my own because sooner or later I’m going to have to.” She could feel the tears start to slip down her cheeks, and she wiped at them with a shaking hand.

“What do you mean?”

“I know the soldier’s life. I know what it looks like, I’ve lived as a solider’s wife, and now as a soldier’s widow, and I don’t know if I have the strength to do it again.” She sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to make this about me. This shouldn’t be about me. I know how difficult all of this must be for you, which is why I didn’t want to trouble you with my baggage. It’s not your responsibility to sort through this shit. It’s something I’ve been putting off and ignoring, and I’m the one that has to put in the work to fix this.”

There was a long silence, and she wasn’t sure if he was going to speak again. What was there to say to that? What could he say to that? She certainly didn’t have an answer, and they were her thoughts and feelings and _shit._

“So, what do you need, Mags?”

"What?” She looked up at him, bleary-eyed, half-convinced that she’d imagined it somehow.

“I said, what do you need.” He repeated gently.

The tears were coming faster now, and many escaped her frantic swipes, dripping from her chin. “I don’t know, Bucky. I don’t know. I just know I have to figure this out and that I can’t drag you into this. I shouldn’t drag you into this.” She focused down on the ground again, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to bear the pure and honest concern in his face, and the hurt in his eyes.

“I know. I understand. Trust me.” He soothed, again adjusting his footing. “I know the temptation is to push people away to protect yourself, to protect them. But you shouldn't have to sort through this stuff alone.”

“I can’t ask that of you,” She shook her head so vigorously the ground started to spin.

“I never said I was qualified, doll.” Bucky extended his hand as if intending to touch her face, but withdrew it again. “But, I do know there are professionals who are and who’d be able to help you in ways that I can’t.”

_Go see a therapist_. Wasn’t that a novel idea. She knew that she should. Yet, Maggie knew that was only half of it. What if she didn’t like the person she was underneath all of this? What if she didn’t think she could bear to be with anyone, least of all with a soldier, a _super soldier_, like Bucky. Perhaps she was truly incapable and unworthy of this, of any of this. After all, she’d screwed everything else up, who was to say that therapy would fix anything.

“What if…what if after I’ve worked on my shit, I have to walk away?” Maggie stammered out, her voice cracking on the last word and threatening to break altogether.

“Then, you walk away,” Bucky answered simply.

Maggie shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. _But it’s not fair!_ She wanted to scream, but what would that change?

“We started out wanting to explore what we could be, and if that turns out to be bad for you, your health, and your well being, then we walk away. We have our perfect moment Mags, and maybe that’s all it was meant to be,” Bucky said. Reaching out, he cupped her cheek with his hand, his thumb dabbing at tears as they continued to fall. “Friendship, relationships, they’re a moment by moment exercise in consent, right?”

She nodded, her eyes still unable to focus on him for any longer than a second.

“I don’t want this—-I don’t want to hurt you, and if I’m hurting you, we need to figure out how to make this not hurt, okay?”

At this, Maggie started to cry even harder. Taking a step back, she buried her face in her hands as her shoulders shook, her knees buckled, and she collapsed on the ground as a single, horrible sob ripped from her chest.

_What is wrong with you? You should be better, stronger, smarter than this. If you were good enough, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be having this problem. _Her brain screamed at her. _You’re the reason everyone’s dead. You’re the reason he’s going to die. You’re better off alone, away from people, because you’re nothing but heartache and regret. You’re just going to fail no matter what you do._

Her self talk was poisonous, and it raced through her veins as she sobbed, helped along by her exhaustion and sheer adrenaline. It caught in her lungs and constricted her chest, making her head spin and her heart pound, making the air hot and syrupy as she tried to inhale between sobs.

_You should’ve just died in the fire and saved everyone the trouble. _That was a thought that she hadn’t had in a while, one that she’d talked herself down from many a time. Only now as she knelt sobbing on the ground, so many thousands of miles away from home, it was difficult to disbelieve.

Then, there was another voice, softer at first, but it cut through the noise. “Mags. Mags, doll, I need you to focus on my voice, I need you to focus only on my voice.” He soothed. “Can you do that for me? Just focus on my voice.”

Maggie nodded or at least bobbed her head, and so he continued.

“You’re hyperventilating. I need you to focus on your breathing. Can you take a deep breath in? In three counts?” He counted off, taking a deep breath, and she did the same, mirroring his instruction. “Good, hold it, you’re doing so good, and now exhale in three counts.”

Maggie clung to his words, grounding herself in his voice like holding onto a lifeline in a storm.

When he got her breathing consistent, in long and deep draws, he moved on. “Tell me three things you feel.”

She strained, trying to focus and concentrate long enough to notice any three things. There was the grass, there was the wind, and there was the heat of the day. She must’ve said them because Bucky continued, “Good, you’re doing so good, Mags. Now tell me what you hear.”

There was his voice, always his voice, soft, and deep and low, even though it was strained at the moment. There were crickets, or bugs of some kind, humming and chirping in the grass, and the horse there was her horse, munching on the prairie land grass to her heart’s content. 

Bucky continued to the other senses, and slowly Maggie started to feel grounded again. The world didn’t feel like it was spinning wildly out of control, and the sobs receded to a gasping sort of hiccup. “May I sit down with you?”

Maggie looked up, realizing that he had been standing, about a yard away as he’d spoken to her. How long had he been standing there? How long had she been panicking?

She nodded slowly, and he slowly approached, sitting down across from her, not touching her, but well within her reach.

“I’m—”

“Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay. There’s no need to apologize.” He murmured.

Maggie swallowed hard, shaking her head. Eyes squeezed shut, she tried to do a physical inventory but found that her whole body felt like it was shaking, and that might just completely fall apart with the motion.

Then softly, Bucky started to hum. It was so quiet that she couldn’t quite make out what it was exactly, but once she caught hold of the melody, she focused in on it, letting it wrap around her and comfort her. Slowly, she opened her eyes and met his watchful gaze. “Marty Robbins?” She asked weakly.

“Mhh, hmm.” He nodded.

“Any particular reason?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” He answered, his eyes searching her, his brow knit in concern.

Maggie could only imagine how terrible she looked, and quickly brushed her hands over her face, combing through her hair to try to regain some semblance of humanity.

“When was the last time you ate or drank anything?” Bucky asked after a moment.

_Don’t mother hen me._ She might have snarled, had her stomach not growled loud enough to intervene. Her head pounded against her skull, and she knew he was right.

Wordlessly he removed a water skin from his satchel along with a packet of jerky and bag of trail mix and sat the items down between them.

“Thank you.” She said, quietly picking up the water skin, and taking a long draw from the spout.

The warm water pooled in the bottom of her empty stomach and her stomach growled even louder. “Have some of the trail mix. It’ll be easier for you to eat than the jerky,” Bucky pushed the trail mix toward her.

Maggie obliged, taking a handful of the trail mix, munched quietly under Bucky’s watchful gaze. “I’m going to message Jelani to let him know that I’ve found you and that you’re safe.” He said slowly after a moment.

“You’re going to make me go back?” Maggie paused, shaking her head. “I’ve behaved so badly over the last few days. I’m not sure I can face everyone at the moment.” She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand, feeling guilt and shame rush into the void left behind by the anxiety and panic.

“I came to make sure you safe. I’m not going to make you go back if you don’t want to, but I’m also not going to leave you out here alone.”

She nodded, somehow she felt she could handle that. Somehow that was exactly what she’d hoped he’d say. Maggie had been alone with her grief and her thoughts for so long, it was nice to think that someone might want to be here with her, to make the Fortress of Solitude a little less solitude.

She glanced up and around at the landscape, beautiful and picturesque, solitary and isolated. It was beyond paradise, and here she was virtually alone to view it, like goddamn Superman in his fortress of solitude. A memory came rushing back, and Maggie cracked a small smile, quietly chuckling, as tears started to form in the corner of her eyes.

“What?” Bucky asked, definite alarm in his voice.

Maggie cleared her throat, shaking her head. “While we were searching for you, Sam and I took a trip to Argentina, scouting out some leads. We joked about looking for some real estate for a potential Fortress of Solitude, but argued that Antarctica and the Arctic were both out on account of the cold.” She chewed on her lip, “So I made some smart ass remark that my fortress of solitude would need to be somewhere warm. Someplace in Africa or Asia, since I had never been to either. Now here I am.” She exhaled with a heavy sigh. “It seems like a lifetime ago.”

“I understand,” Bucky said simply.

Did he? Could he? Of course he could, but then again, what else was there for him to say.

“Are you okay?” He continued after a moment.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She answered.

It was a lie, and she wielded that lie as naturally and instinctively as Steve seemed to wield his shield. It was a lie she was well-practiced in repeating, more a mantra than an actual lie, reminding her that she had to be fine, that she had no other choice.

Bucky nodded but said nothing, his expression revealing nothing.

Maggie focused down on the water skin, taking another draw. Her stomach grumbled in complaint.

“I’d like to stay the night, if that’s all right. I brought some provisions for dinner.”

‘Staying the night,’ ‘Provisions for dinner,’ this was the makings of some sort of romantic comedy or some period romance, and had she been in possession of all her mental faculties, and in better humor, she might have found some delight in the whole situation.

“You don’t have to, you know, I mean, you’re not obligated to do that.”

“What sort of partner would I be if I didn’t?” He inquired.

At the use of the familiar phrase, a phrase that she had employed a little over five days ago, Maggie wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh, cry, or slap the shit out of him. Instead, she just shook her head, “You aren’t supposed to use my lines against me, James Barnes, any of them. I went to graduate school for those. They were very expensive.” She tried to laugh, but it came out more akin to a choked sob.

“It doesn’t make it any less true.” He said.

Maggie knew he was right, of course, but she was supposed to be the one caring for everyone else. She wasn’t the one who was supposed to need help. “What did you bring?” She managed.

“Some basics.”

“Not MREs, are they?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I spent 70 years on an IV drip and a variety of MRE or protein substitutes. I don’t think I could stomach any more of that.”

Maggie nodded. “I’m of the strongly held belief that you and Steve need to start a food vlog.”

“Doing what?”

“Tasting and reviewing food, I think you’d have some interesting insights.”

“That’s certainly one way to put it. I’ll have to pitch that to Steve as our retirement plan.”

“Yeah,” Maggie chuckled weakly. “How was your visit with Steve? He’s not still here, is he?”

“No. He left Sunday.” He answered. “But his visit was good. He appreciated your gift.”

“Good, I’m glad.” She hesitated before charging forward. “I hope I didn’t ruin your visit.”

Bucky shook his head, “I’m sorry that I couldn’t see that something was clearly upsetting you and that I failed to address it sooner.”

“I wasn’t exactly the most forthcoming.”

“No. But If I hadn’t dumped all of this on you at the last minute, we might have been able to mitigate some of the worst of this.”

Maggie nodded, wanting nothing more than to contradict him, but to what end? So he could contradict her, and around and around, they’d go? She was exhausted and now was not the time to play the “Who’s more guilty” Game.

“I’d like to start dinner if that’s okay?”

“That sounds good Bucky, what can I do to help?”

“Keep drinking water and working on the trail mix.” He answered as he rose to his feet.

Maggie opened her mouth to protest but was once again thwarted by her stomach growling loudly. “I want to help,” She grumbled before taking another sip of water and shoving another handful of trail mix into her mouth.

“Would it help to know that letting me help you helping me?” Bucky inquired.

“Perhaps.” She admitted grudgingly.

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head.

“What?”

“You and Steve should have a head butting contest sometime. I’d be intrigued to see who’d win.”

“Unstoppable force meets an immovable object? Sounds like quite the show.”

“It seems to be a habit of mine to involve myself with people who are too stubborn for their own good,” Bucky answered dryly.

“Then, it is a prison of your own devising.”

“I wouldn’t say prison, but yes, I seem to be a glutton for punishment when it comes to my romantic partners.”

Maggie chuckled but said nothing further. Bucky made a quick dinner with what he’d brought, supplemented with some of her foodstuffs, and they ate in comfortable silence as the sun started to set, and darkness drew in around the campsite.

“So, you’re really not going to drag me back to the village?” She asked hesitantly as they put away their cooking supplies.

“Not tonight,” Bucky shook his head, “But we need to back in the morning.”

_Must we? _The question hung on her lips, just at the tip of her tongue, but she wouldn’t ask. She’d already stolen nearly a week’s worth of time with a lie. She would not barter and bargain with Bucky for more after he’d already been so kind and understanding. “Was Jelani upset?”

“No.”

“Were you?” She continued.

“We were worried about you, Mags.” Bucky sighed. “I’m still worried about you.”

“I don’t want you to be worried about me,” Maggie said, her voice small. “You have so many other, more important things that you’re dealing with.”

Bucky furrowed his brow, looking somehow for the first time more irritated than concerned. “You do realize you’re important to me, right? You’re important to a lot of us. It’s unfair to ask us to ask me not to worry about you when you mean a whole lot to the people around you.”

“I’m not important, Bucky. In the grand scheme of things I’m collateral damage, I don’t matter. I’m by definition unimportant.” It was stupid and dramatic, and she knew that as it came out of her mouth, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t feel it deeply and in her soul.

“You’re a survivor, and I think that makes you even _more_ important.” Bucky paused, opening his mouth to continue but then snapping it shut again without a word.

“What?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think this thread of discussion is going to be productive or beneficial to anyone at the moment.” He replied, “You’re exhausted. I’m exhausted.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know Mags, I know.”

They both stood there, in the dying light of the day, overwhelmed by everything that had transpired. How were they supposed to process or understand what had just happened? Could they? Maggie knew eventually they might, but it was going to take a bit. It would undoubtedly take hard work on her part to even begin to process what had been said today, never mind almost 20 years of trauma, heartbreak, and baggage that had been festering and rotting her from the inside out.

“Come on, let’s lay down under the stars. It’s supposed to be a clear, beautiful night,” Bucky said finally.

“Sure.” She agreed, and they both sunk down on the blanket she’d brought with her.

Settling down on their backs, they kept their distance, not touching, or even daring to brush hands. Whether by design or by coincidence, Maggie didn’t know. She wasn’t sure if she was touch starved or touch repulsed at present, but she did know that he was right. She was exhausted. She wasn’t being rational or productive or even coherent with her thought patterns. She was crashing, and burning, and spiraling widely out of control. The only reason she hadn’t hit rock bottom yet completely was because he’d been kind enough to offer her a parachute, despite her complete insistence on trying puncture holes in the chute as she plummeted.

They lay there side by side, on their backs looking up at the starts, which glittered in a magnificent array overhead. The sky was so clear and dark she could see the arms of the Milkyway, a sight she’d never seen before her time in Wakanda, and had previously thought was only something from the movies.

She basked in its vastness, feeling small beneath the dark, inky depths of the Universe. Both she and the problems of the world completely meaningless set against the infinite wonder of the heavens above.

Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie could see that Bucky wasn’t watching the skies above. His eyes were fixed on her, his expression cautious, concerned, and ever watchful. She felt naked, exposed somehow after the events of today, and had to fight the urge to retreat further into herself.

_He must think I’m unhinged. _She wouldn’t blame him. She did feel unhinged, and it was horrible.

Maggie squeezed her eyes shut and focused on her breathing, counting slowly in her head, trying to calm her racing mind.

She needed help. She knew she needed help, and Bucky was right, if she wasn’t going to accept his help, then she did need a professional to work with her on this.

_Well, that’s one hell of a first step._

And it was.

_So what’s the next step?_

Well, she’d need to find a therapist's office who might be willing to work with her. How did insurance and co-pay work in Wakanda?

Her brain worked out the next steps of what would need to happen in the following days, and slowly, she nodded off, slipping into a deep and undisrupted sleep for the first time in well over a month.

Maggie then awoke with a start. Sitting bolt upright, she glanced around, trying to take in her surroundings and account for where the hell she was and how the hell she’d gotten there.

It was dawn, and a fine mist covered everything. Someone had put a blanket over her. She looked around disoriented a moment until she laid eyes on Bucky, who was sitting beside her, his expression unchanged from the night before, but now clearer in dawn’s early light.

The events of the previous day rushed back, feeling more like a bad trip than a recollection, and she fought the urge to completely shut down from the shame, anger, and regret she now felt for her actions.

“Hi?” She managed breathlessly.

“Hi,” Bucky answered. “How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted.” Maggie admitted, “Sore.” She added, rubbing her lower back, chuckling weakly.

“Do you want to eat breakfast here or after we get back to the village?” He asked slowly.

_Right. That. _

“We can head back now if you want.” She replied. “I know you probably have a lot to take care of.” It was too easy to divert this away from her. Maggie stopped as Bucky gave her a look. Taking a deep breath, she rephrased. “I should get back. I’m sure I’ll have some crow to eat with Jelani, and I have to figure out the Wakandan healthcare system.”

Bucky nodded. “I can give you the number for my team, their office is really good, and they’ll be able to help you out, or find someone who can.”

Maggie smiled, “I’d like that, thank you, Bucky.”

“Any time.”

Maggie took a deep breath, glancing around at the campsite, which was now starting to glow in the early light, a bright and vibrant array of oranges and gold colors. “ I guess we should get going then.” She said.

“Well, one thing at a time. We can first work on getting camp packed up, and then focus on getting back,” Bucky soothed, and Maggie nodded again.

They rose and packed up the campsite, loading her saddlebags down on Stella’s back, and securing them carefully to distribute the weight. When the campsite had been completely broken down and their cooking fire doused and spread, they turned once again to each other. Bucky waited patiently for what she was going to do or say. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to walk rather than ride. It just seems fairer to you. If that’s okay?” She managed in one breath. Her mind moving about as fast as molasses in winter.

“I wouldn’t mind making the walk with you.”

Maggie nodded, taking Stella’s reigns, started down the path they’d come. They walked in silence, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, Bucky taking the lead on navigation while she followed.

_What was he thinking?_ Maggie couldn’t tell. His expression certainly gave nothing away, but she did wonder what he thought of all of this, what he thought of her, particularly after that little display last night. She felt so embarrassed that he’d had to see that, that she hadn’t been able to pull herself together long enough to not completely have a meltdown.

_That’s toxic thinking._ She reminded herself. _Focus on the positive. He’s here with you now. If he hasn’t bolted yet, he may not. Besides, if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have walked ten miles to find you and talk you down from a panic attack._

“Thank you, Bucky,” She said slowly after a moment.

“For what, doll?”

“Coming all this way to make sure I was okay.”

“Of course,” he nodded.

“I know I don’t seem particularly grateful about the whole thing, but I am. I know you didn’t have to, and the fact that you did means a lot.”

Bucky stayed quiet a minute, silently mulling over his options, the cogs in his head whirling a moment as he decided what to say next. Maggie could feel herself holding her breath, waiting in anticipation, bracing for the unknown. “I spent two years on the run, trying to piece my brain back together. I understanding wanting to sort through and figure it out on your own. From experience, let me just say, having people to help you is better than toughing it out. You were, you _are_ one of the people who helped me, who gave me some of the first steps in the right direction. I just wanna be one of those people for you.”

_Me?_ She wanted to ask. _How? When? What?_ Her brain rattled with all of the questions she wanted to ask. Instead, Maggie took his hand in hers. He tensed a moment at the suddenness of the action but then relaxed after a moment.

Nothing further was said. Nothing further needed to be said. She’d helped him on his mental health journey, and now he was going to do the same, or at least try. However, Maggie knew that this was one journey that she was going to have to navigate on her own, at least for a little bit.

They arrived back at her place, and they offloaded Stella, before walking up to the barn, where Stella got a good rub down, and a bag of oats before she was let out to pasture. Then, they walked to where Sally had been bedded down, and together they hooked her back up to the feed cart.

“Bucky, I can’t say thank you enough.” She said as he took up the reigns.

“I’m here to support you, whatever you need, Mags. A team, remember?”

“Right. A team.” She nodded.

“Heres the number.” He opened his contacts and extended his wrist to her.

Maggie tapped her Kimoyo bracelet to his, and her bracelet buzzed as the information transferred. “Thanks.” She swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to need some time. So you may not see me for a bit. All of my stuff is out of your place, so it isn’t an issue. But this has been going on a long, long time, and so I need some space to figure this out. Is that okay?”

“Whatever you need, Mags.” He said, taking her hand in his. “But if you _do_ need something, an ear, a distraction, someone to help you stay accountable, let me know.”

Maggie exhaled with a sigh, “Yeah. Make sure that I actually make the first appointment?”

Bucky nodded. “I’ll even walk you to your first appointment if that would help.”

“It might, actually yeah.”

“So when should I check-in to see if you’ve made an appointment?” He asked.

“Give me two days? I have no idea how difficult this is going to be.”

“They were able to get me scheduled the same day. I don’t expect it should be too hard to get you in.”

“That’s actually really good to hear. God knows the American mental healthcare system is a monstrosity. I couldn’t imagine trying to get help stateside at the moment.”

“Well. Just let me know when you schedule your appointment, if I don’t hear from you in two days, I’ll text you.”

“Sounds good.”

“Sounds good.” He agreed.

There was a long pause as both of them wanted to stretch out their last moment together for a bit. Mags wanted to make any sort of excuse to procrastinate or distract herself from the tough conversations, and difficult tasks that awaited her.

“This is only going to help you, Mags,” Bucky said slowly. “I believe in you.” He leaned in, carefully kissing her forehead.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

“We’ll talk soon.”

“Talk soon.”

And like that, he was walking down the path, with Sally and the cart behind him.

Maggie exhaled when he disappeared from her line of sight, and rubbing her face, glanced skyward. _You’d be proud of me. You’d both be proud of me. _She knew she’d have to tell Sam in person eventually, but Riley would know all the same that she was thinking of them.

It was going to be okay. How exactly, she wasn’t sure, but this was a step in the right direction. Or, at the very least, it was a step. She could no longer justify or afford standing still, not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Mags is finally going to therapy! Yay! I’m sure that all of you were ready to take them by the shoulders and shake their heads off! I know that I was. 
> 
> I hope all of you are doing well and don’t worry, the next chapter is forthcoming rather quickly! So you won’t have to wait long to see how our two resident dorks are handling these new developments.
> 
> I hope you and your families are well, safe, and healthy. Thinking of all of you through this thing. Until next time, happy reading!


	21. Green Chili Sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: You Belong to Me by Jason Wade; Love me Tender by Nora Jones; All the Things you Are by Frank Sinatra; Lean on Me by Bill Withers  
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=9SUYVvMJTc-Ik7qvu6b3rg

Bucky had walked Mags to her first therapist appointment, they’d kissed, and she’d assured him she’d text when she got out.

That had been a month and a half ago, and to her credit, she had texted him when she’d gotten home.

“_This is going to be brutal, but thank you for helping me take the first step.”_

They hadn’t seen much of each other since, only on Tuesdays when they had lunch. They were, however, exchanging letters. A somewhat old-fashioned notion, but Bucky enjoyed both penning letters and reading the ones he received from Mags. It felt slow and intimate and something that he hadn’t realized he missed until that first Tuesday after her therapy appointment when she’d suggested it.

Bucky found that he liked her handwriting, the long elegant strokes, which was vastly different from her clinical pen scratches in the journals she’d written.

Despite himself and despite everything, he missed her. He was trying not to, just as he had when he’d been trying to put his head on straight. She was trying to figure some things out, and he didn’t need to add his feelings into the mix. He’d let it slip, however, into his letter, and had posted it to her without thinking.

_‘I Miss you too, Bucky, you make the best damn campfire coffee of anyone I’ve ever known.’_

He missed making coffee for her in the morning. Missed the closeness, the casual closeness they’d enjoyed. She’d left her blanket, their blanket, at his place, and he knew it still smelled like her though he’d never admit that’s why he’d left it folded where she placed it.

It was fun to receive mail, and he savored her letters, reading them before he went to bed. They were mostly silly stories or anecdotes from their individual days and lives. Mags would often write out what she’d had for dinner, or movies that she thought he should watch.

Bucky responded with snippets of what he was reading or listening to, or his reviews of the movies that she’d recommended to him. That no, he couldn’t believe Shrek was a timeless classic when The Prince of Egypt had been released the same year and by the same studio.

After the first week, He could tell the letters where she was tired, either emotionally or physically, by the way her handwriting would slant or scrunch together depending on her mood. Yet, somehow she always managed to write a letter, and so Bucky would write one as well to ensure she could have a small slice of his day, the same way she was giving him a little slice of hers.

It was one of the best parts of his day.

In her past few letters, Bucky could tell she’d been having a harder time. Something was bothering her, and what she was working on with her therapist was hovering just under the surface of her words, like an unseen leviathan in the depths of the ocean. Deep and submerged, but creating the faintest ripples on the top of the calm seas.

So it hadn’t come as a total shock when she’d texted him.

They hadn’t sworn off texting. It was just part of the unspoken rule of giving Mags space to sort through this. Their chosen mode of communication was letters or lunch on Tuesday, and so when the message came in, he’d had to fight anxiety and panic as a thousand thoughts immediately started rushing through his head.

Fortunately, he’d just opened the damn message, and it had read, simply:

'_Hey. I’m okay. I just wanted to say that I miss you and wanted to ask if I can come over and make dinner some time this week.’_

Bucky had starred at the moment. She’d anticipated that her text message would cause undue alarm and had quickly added, “I’m fine,” before proceeding with the main body of her message.

Dinner, however, dinner sounded good, and he promptly responded, ‘_Absolutely, what and when?’ _His fingers shaking so match that he’d had trouble with the holographic keyboard.

_‘Can we try for tomorrow? I’d like to make green chili stew with pork if that’s okay.’_

_Tomorrow works, I have a therapist appointment until 6:00-ish, so dinner may be a little later than usual. Pork is fine. I don’t keep kosher.’_

_‘Sounds good. I can come over at six and start dinner since stew takes a bit.’_

_okay, I’ll see you after then.’_

_‘See you then. Good luck with your appointment.’_

_I love you._ He’d almost typed out. It felt like the most natural thing to type, but he refrained. ‘I miss you’ felt like a huge admission from her, not couched with qualifiers, he wouldn’t put ‘I love you’ in the mix, not right now. Not when things were still so uncertain between them. Not until she felt she was ready to continue a relationship with him.

_'Thanks.’_ He replied, and just as quickly as the line of communication had come alive, it went silent again.

Yet his heart still raced and pounded, and he went back and read and re-read both her text messages and her letters.

Was she okay? She’d liked and withheld information on her well being before.

_She’s going to therapy and working on that, and anyway, you’re hardly the best example of being honest and open with loves ones about your feelings._

He wanted to see her and touch her and hold her. He wanted to walk to her place and crawl into bed beside her.

Tuesday lunches weren’t enough. Not after what he’d seen and heard that day. He couldn’t get it out of his head.

He could still hear her sobbing, hear the way that her breath had caught in her chest, in short, jagged little gasps. The abject look of terror, and pain, and total despair that had riddled her features and reduced her to uncontrollable sobbing.

Bucky had never seen her like that. He never wanted to see her like that again, but it was seared in his memory, and he couldn’t help shake the feeling that while he wasn’t the whole reason for such pain and heartache, he had undoubtedly been the catalyst.

He didn’t want to lose her, but he also didn’t want to cause her that kind of pain, when it might be better for her to walk away.

_Was that what dinner was going to be about? _He couldn’t help but wonder, even as he felt an uptick of anxiety. _But she’d said she missed me._

_ Moment by moment exercise on consent, you don’t have a choice, if she wants to walk away, you have to let her go._ Bucky reminded himself. This wasn’t about him, this was about making sure that Maggie was happy and healthy, and if that was only possible apart, then he’d let her go.

Bucky’s mind spent the evening and, most the following day, wandering, pondering a thousand different things and what they might mean. He was so thrown by the entire situation his therapist picked up on it, and they’d spent a better part of the second half of his session talking through why he was so hung up on dinner, and his anxiety about doing right by Ma

_ Doing right by Mags._ It was so strange when he thought about it like that. Doing right by someone.

Had he done right by her thus far? He would argue no, that he hadn’t. Had he asked Mags if he’d done right by her? No. He hadn’t asked her that.

They didn’t talk about their past, and certainly didn’t make any future plans together and talking about ‘doing right’ by someone involved discussing both.

They were both firmly planted in the present, floating in a place without noticeable passage of time. No past, no present, only now. Or they had been until the appointment last month, which had reminded them of certain inevitable facts, and had left them scrambling to deal with their implications.

_ ‘Perhaps you should talk about the first time you met, back on the ranch.’ _His therapist had suggested. _‘Actually. Your homework between now and the next time we meet is to have a meaningful conversation about the Ranch with Magdalene.’_

_‘Written or verbal?’_

_‘Whichever is going to be the most productive for you both.’_

His time had run out shortly thereafter, and he’d left the office feeling exhausted. He always felt drained after a session, but today weighed particularly heavy on his shoulders.

The session had been productive. It was always productive, and he knew it was beneficial to his overall health and wellbeing. Still, it felt like something was trying to claw its way out of his chest, and he did his best to regulate his breathing and try center himself and focus after being picked apart by his therapist.

_Need to have a conversation about our past. _

Well, that wasn’t entirely impossible. It had just never been done by them before.

_Would it be easier in person or over letters? Is she going to be willing to have that conversation with me? _

Bucky paused as he came to the top of the hill, his hut just at the bottom. A strong gust blew around him, carrying the smell of chili and voices speaking in Wakandan. Around the cooking fire, there were four figures. Three were the children that followed him around and watched him work, and the other was the unmistakeable figure of Maggie.

As he saw her, Bucky had to fight the smile that wanted to spread across his face, “You need to take a deep breath, Barnes.” He heard himself say as another gust of wind washed over him with a teasing hint of chili and...floral perfume? Bucky took a closer look, the children had woven flowers into her hair, and pink and yellow and orange flowers seemed to glisten like jewels in her long dark locks.

She laughed, attempting another sentence in Wakandan, a smile across her face as she spoke. She was wearing her usual work clothes but had a bright scarf slung across her chest, large bangles in her ears and on her wrist.

_You saw her Tuesday._

Bucky took a deep breath before he approached. Walking down the hill, he drew the attention of the kids. “What are you three doing?” He asked.

“We are helping Cowgirl and her Wakandan!” Tabo answered for the group.

“Are you?” He commented in faux disbelief as he glanced around at the group and then at Mags, who stood nearby watching with a knowing grin.

“Yes!” They chorused.

“And how is she doing?”

“Eh,” Tabo said with a so so gesture.

They all laughed, including mags who joined in after the scandalized expression faded from her features and melted into an easy smile.

“I appreciate the lesson. Even if I am ‘eh.’” She managed in Wakandan.

“Keep practicing, you are getting better,” Tabo answered in English with all of the stern, solemn grace of any eight-year-old in a position of relative authority.

“Heyi, my goats?” He inquired.

They exchanged a quick word about his goats before the kids ran off again, wishing him well, and that they would see him tomorrow.

“Thanks for the lesson!” Mags called after them, watching as they disappeared from view before she turned to him squarely. “Hi.” She said breathlessly, looking flustered by the whole exchange.

“Hi.” He answered.

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and Bucky had never seen anything more beautiful. Of course she was beautiful, but then she also didn’t look upset or anxious, reserved perhaps, and tired but not anything like the last time they’d made dinner together.

“They didn’t give you too much trouble, did they?”

“The kids? No. Not at all.” She shook her head. “How are you? How was your appointment?”

“Productive but exhausting.” He admitted.

Mags nodded sympathetically. “Well, you came at a good time, are you hungry? The cornbread is almost ready, but the stew should be ready to go if you wanna grab a bowl while I pull the cornbread off the heat.”

“Do you want any help?” Bucky inquired hesitantly.

“Nah.” She shook her head, “but I appreciate it.”

Wordlessly he moved around her, to the small table where the stew pot was already waiting and ladled himself a bowl, the steam and aroma washing over him, making him blink a moment. “You made this for me, back on the ranch.” He said, doing his best to keep the shaking out of his voice as the realization struck him.

“I did.” She nodded. “Mike and Bill swore that my green chili stew could make lame men walk and blind men see.”

_It brought me back from the dead._ He didn’t say it, and instead took a careful sip of broth.

It was exactly how he remembered it, and memories came flooding back. The barn, the ranch, the people, Mags. It was all there, perfect and untarnished by time.

“It’s a comfort food of mine, and I haven’t made it since I arrived here. It took me forever to source the corn and chili.” She continued ponderously, not really talking to him, but at him.

Mags placed the cornbread down on the table between them and ladled her a bowl of stew before she settled into her seat. “Would you like some cornbread, too?”

Bucky nodded, midway through a bite, and she served them both a generous slice, before diving into her bowl. They didn’t talk, and Bucky watched her expectantly out of the corner of his gaze as he ate.

She didn’t seem upset, she looked as relaxed and at ease as ever, if not a little tired. Would this be the appropriate time to bring up his assignment from his therapist? He might not get another chance to bring it up in person before his next appointment, and this felt like something he should talk about in person.

_You really wanna bring up our past, right now? At dinner? After not seeing her on a regular basis for over a month?_

“Do you miss it?” He couldn’t stop himself, and the question tumbled out of him as casually as he could manage, before he looked back down at his stew, blowing gently on a steaming spoonful of broth.

“Miss what?”

“The ranch.” He continued, shoving the spoon in his mouth.

“Oh.” She breathed, stirring the contents of her bowl thoughtfully. “Yeah.” She continued slowly. “Not so much anymore, not as badly as I did, just after everything happened when I was convinced I could get my life back. I do still miss the people, Suzanne, Bill, Mike, and the others. I wish I could tell them I’m alive and doing all right.” She exhaled with a eat chuckle. “I think they’d get a kick out of the irony of the situation.”

Bucky nodded, “I bet…I bet they’d want to know you’re okay. They really loved you.” He took another spoonful of stew and shoved it in his mouth, hoping to buy himself time between now and the next time he spoke.

Mags opened and closed her mouth a few times as if trying to find a way to rebuff him, but when nothing came focused back down on her bowl and took a bite.

_Well, that hadn’t been terrible. _He remarked to himself, adverting his eyes from her as she ate.

There was a long silence, and then she put her spoon down purposely before drawing in a deep breath. “What do you remember about your time at the ranch with me?” Despite the breath, her voice was small as she spoke as if she wasn’t sure she wanted him to hear the question.

Bucky didn’t respond. He’d spent a lifetime refining calm, purposeful, stillness. Not moving or fidgeting, and he employed that now as he tried to find the best way to respond to her question.

However, before he could muster together an answer, she charged on, “I guess that would be a difficult question, you probably haven’t thought about the ranch since you left.”

Was she trying to let him down easy? Was she trying to let herself down easy? As if she was trying not to be disappointed by his lack of an answer. He couldn’t disappoint her, not when she’d answered his question so candidly.

“Well,” He began, making sure his tone was steady and deliberate. “I don’t think I thought about my time on the ranch after I left, but I did think a fair bit about you and what you meant to the ranch. I tried not to think about my time on the ranch, but it came back to me sometimes in unexpected ways.”

“Like what?”

“Likes this,” he motioned to the stew. “When I was cooking, I’d catch a win of certain ingredients or certain combinations of things, and it would trigger a memory, from something you’d cooked for me.” Bucky paused, glancing quickly at Mags, who was watching him was a wide-eyed expression. Seeing this as a good sign, he continued. “I remember your kindness and generosity, even though you were struggling, you were generous with your time, energy, and resources.”

“You picked up on that, huh?”

“When you were more put off by a leaky roof than a strange and dangerous man in your barn, it was pretty clear that something was wrong.”

“Yeah.” She rubbed the back of her head, a grim expression on her face.

Bucky charged on, “I remember how gentle you were that day in the outbuilding when you helped repair the arm.”

“I was so scared,” She breathed. “I threw up after you left.”

Bucky felt something wash over him. Was that relief? Relief that she’d somehow had a somewhat normal reaction to the situation, but also regret that he’d been the cause for such fear. “You were very brave, and you saved my life, Mags.”

“I didn’t save your life,” She shook her head.

“Yes, you did.” He contradicted her. “And it wasn’t just then.” Bucky hesitated, taking a deep breath before he continued. “One of the first days I was lucid, one of your clients came into the barn. The black man with one arm, James. He was having some kind of problem, with his daughter, I think. You gave him some canned speech, he called you out on it, but it was about choice. Choosing to be a good person, that no one just wakes up a good or a bad person.” Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know what it was, but I carried that around with me. When I made the choice to leave you for dead, that haunted me. You haunted me. I realized that my choice, one of the first choices I’d had in a long while, had cost a life. had cost your life. It talked me into doing a lot of risky shit.”

“When you beat up those street harassers?”

“Yeah.”

“That wasn’t me. You’d done stuff like that before the Winter Soldier.” She said.

“Mags. You reminded me that I didn’t have to be what they made me. You saved me. You not only sheltered and fed a staving half-dead man. You gave me a moral compass. You reminded me that I had a choice and that I should want to choose to be a good man. You made me want to be a better person long before I knew who I was, or who I even_ might _be.” He starred down as he said it, knowing that if he looked at Mags, he might not be able to make it all the way through. It was true, every bit of it, and he felt it deep within him that she deserved to hear that. That if he was going to do right by her, she needed to hear that.

Bucky looked at the sound of sniffling and found that Mags was crying, Her head down, wiping away tears with shaking hands.

_Fuck. I’ve gone too far._ “Mags. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—I just thought—-I wanted you to know!” He rushed.

“No. No, Bucky. These aren’t sad tears.” She shook her head with a weak chuckle. “You just gave me a beautiful gift—I had no idea. You have no idea. I needed to hear that. I didn’t know I needed to hear that, but obviously, I did,” She sniffled.

“Is there something I can do?” He asked uncertainly.

“I think—I think I’d really like a hug.” She managed after a moment.

“Well, come here, doll.” Bucky murmured, rising so quickly he nearly upended the small table.

Mags rose to meet him, and he wrapped his arm around her, holding her to him. Her shoulder fit snugly under his armpit, and she entwined her arms around him, making it feel like an embrace.

It was warm and soothing and comforting to hold and be held by someone, and they stood there a minute or so, just holding each other.

_I missed this. _He thought, which was immediately followed by, _What a shitty situation, _as he felt her shoulders shake and the warm damp tears that soaked through his shirt.

“What can I do, Mags? What do you need?” He soothed, burying his nose in her hair, breathing in the sweet fragrance of the flowers that had been woven into her long dark hair.

“Right now, I just need to be held, I think.” She answered with a short watery laugh.

“Happy to oblige.” He chuckled softly.

Mags sighed, leaning further into him. “Thank you, Bucky.” She whispered.

“For?”

“Everything.”

“I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh. I’m not.” She shook her head, “But I’m working on it, and I think maybe I’ll be okay someday, but right now, no, I’m not okay, but maybe that’s okay too.”

Bucky marveled a moment at her words, struck by both how easily they issued forth, but also the tremendous strength it took for her to say them. A change had occurred. A month and a half ago she hadn’t been able to admit that she wasn’t okay, insisting that she was fine. A small victory with enormous implications.

“I’m proud of you.” He murmured, kissing the top of her head. “And whatever I can do to help you make it more okay, I’m here for you.”

“You’re doing it, Bucky,” She said, her body uncoiling slightly, her muscles relaxing, an expectant breath releasing in a slow soft, “thank you.”

“Always,” Bucky answered.

They stood there a long while, neither moving. It could’ve been a minute, could’ve been five, or fifteen, or even an hour, Bucky didn’t know, but neither wanted to release the other. Yet, when they did, it felt somehow like a heavy weight had lifted from their shoulders.

“Okay, back to dinner,” Mags managed, all business, as she stepped away, hastily wiping at her wet eyes.

Bucky nodded, wordlessly returning to his bowl.

“Would you like a top off to heat yours up?”

“Yeah, sure.”

They lulled back into silence as they returned to the normal and familiar task of dinner. Still, despite himself, Bucky couldn’t help but feel like he was still bracing for something. Was that his paranoia talking? Or was there something else he didn’t see in the context of dinner? Something he was perhaps missing?

“Mags,” he began slowly, “can I ask you something.”

“Of course, Bucky, anything.”

“Why’d you want to come over and make me dinner?” Bucky asked. “Not that I mind.” He added in a rush.

“You wanna know my reasoning, what it means, etc.” She supplied.

“Yeah.”

“Well. I do miss you,” She paused.

_Ah. Here we go. Here it comes. Here’s the ‘but.’ _Bucky couldn’t help but think bitterly. There was always a caveat.

“But, yeah,” Mags continued. “I was—am having a hard time with some stuff. Specifically working through my life over the past few years. So my therapist suggested that we needed to have a conversation before my next appointment with her because—” His face must have done something strange because she cut herself off mid-sentence, her brows knit together in part confusion and nearing anger. “What?”

“It’s just—I just had a similar conversation with my therapist today about having a conversation with you, about our past, before our next appointment.”

“Oh. Oh, wow.” Mags stammered, clearly surprised. “Well damn, this all worked out well, didn’t it?” she chuckled.

“Yeah. I guess it did.” He breathed, running his hand over his hair, trying to find the tidiest path forward. “I want to do right by you, Maggie,” Bucky said slowly. “Whatever that means, and whatever you need me to be, after what you’ve done for me, I feel that’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you, Bucky.” She reached across the table with both hands, and he placed his hand in hers. “I’m trying to figure out what I need or fuck what I want. It’s just difficult to know when my life hasn’t been remotely stable in five years or so.” She smiled a weak, watery smile. “But I’ll let you know as soon as I figure that out.”

“I understand,” He nodded. “When you’re trying to survive, it’s difficult to think about anything past living to see tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Mags nodded, “Sorry.” She added quickly.

“For what?”

“Oh, bellyaching over how hard I have it when I haven’t been through half—”

“Don’t,” Bucky cut her off as gently as he could manage, his thumb rubbing circles on her left hand. “It’s not a competition, doll. You are more than justified in your ‘bellyaching.’”

“Right, Right.” She nodded with a heavy sigh, she pulled her right hand away and rubbed her eyes. “Fuck. You’d think a therapist would be better at this shit.”

“You were searching for my ass for two years and dealing with Steve. Never mind before that when you were busting your ass to keep the ranch afloat so you could help other people. You should cut yourself some slack and give yourself credit where credit is due.”

At this, Mags chuckled, “You’ve taken therapy to heart.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I’m very proud of you for sticking with it. It’s obviously doing you a fair bit of good. I just wish I was a quicker study.”

“I understand the lessons. The application is a work in progress.”

Mags nodded knowingly, glancing back down into her bowl. “I think I’m done with eating, how about you?”

“Yeah. I think so too.” He agreed. “I can clean up since you cooked.”

“I’ll wash if you’ll dry and put away.” She countered.

“Deal.”

Both rose and started the delicate dance of cleaning up the remains of dinner. Bucky’s gaze focused on Mags, as he moved around the campsite, while she set up at the washbasin.

The afternoon had been emotionally charged, and they’d dived deeply, albeit only momentarily, into a conversation about their pasts together. Bucky felt emotionally battered, while Mags looked increasingly more exhausted physically, and he could imagine she was likewise emotionally fatigued. The flowers that the children had woven in her hair had started to wilt in the heat, and while they were still beautiful, they looked shriveled, shrunken into themselves. Maggie looked the same way. Beautiful but withdrawn into herself.

When the task was done, they stood a few feet apart, inspecting each other, waiting for the other person to speak first.

“Thank you for humoring me.” She said slowly. “With dinner, and my question.”

“Of course.” Bucky took a step toward her, extending his hand to her.

“It’s a lot more fun to cook for more than one person.” She said, taking his hand in both hers. “So, thank you, Bucky, really.”

He nodded.

Maggie smiled, but it looked brittle, fragile. “I should probably head back to my place. I have an early start tomorrow morning, and you probably wanna decompress after everything.” She said, releasing his hand and clasping hers together.

“I understand if you need to get back, but I wouldn’t mind if you stayed a while longer,” Bucky hesitated, “I’ve missed you.” He added internally wincing at how his voice sounded pinched as he tried to get the words out without saying them.

“I’ve missed you too, James,” She said, her voice cracking slightly at the end.

Bucky’s stomach fluttered, as it had so many times before, at the use of his first name. “Would you stay a bit longer? It’s supposed to be a clear night, and I can walk you back when it gets dark.”

She smiled again, nodding. “I’d like that. I’d like to sit out here with you for a while if that’s okay.”

“Absolutely. Let me go get something for us to sit on.” He answered.

Turning away, he tried to ignore the way his heart pounded loudly in his chest and entered his dwelling. His eyes went immediately to the blanket she’d woven for them, and moved to pick it up. Taking it in hand, he paused at the sound of something solid hitting the earthen floor and stooped to inspect the small parcel that been nestled in the folds.

'_She deserves something nice after we’re done here.’ _ The Princess’s words rushed back as he adjusted the blanket over his shoulder and picked up the small square, shrouded in fabric. He’d forgotten he’d purchased the small trinket on his return trip from the capitol after walking Steve up to the palace. He’d been in his head and worried about Mags, so he’d stashed it away and had entirely forgotten about it. Until now.

A quick smile passed over his face as he enclosed his hand around it and rose back to his feet. Emerging from the hut, Bucky found that she’d moved some ways away from the cooking fire, and stood in a clearing with the best upward visibility. Approaching her wordlessly, he watched as she remained motionless, her head tilted upward, eyes searching for the first of the evening stars that would soon begin to replace the fluffy clouds that dotted the sky.

“Hey,” Bucky began, gently breaking the silence as reached where she stood. “I have something for you.”

Mags turned to him, looking slightly startled a moment, before glancing quickly between him and his hand, which he held outstretched. “What is it?” She asked, taking the small parcel from him with both hands.

“An apology,” He answered simply.

Mags shot him a look, but untied the fabric wrapping, and removed the items within. “Bucky, they’re beautiful.” She breathed, moving her hand closer to inspect the decorative set of hair combs.

They were wood that had been carved, lacquered, and inset with different types and colors of wood, to form an array of large colorful flowers on the part that would be visible when placed in her hair. “They reminded me of the shawl you wore, back at last chance.” He admitted after a moment.

“Shawl?” She glanced up at him, her brow furrowed.

Bucky licked his lips. How had he remembered that? How had he pulled that single detail out of his past? “The night you gave me your hot chocolate on accident.” He continued.

Her expression smoothed, and she nodded with a small smile at the recollection before her vision went back down to the matching set of combs. “But, you said an apology.”

“For not telling you about my appointment until almost literally the last minute.”

Maggie nodded with a small chuckle. “Jeezus so much has happened since then, it feels like a lifetime ago.” She shook her head. “I accept your apology James Barnes, and I am working on getting better with not withholding information from others as well.”

“Of course, Mags.” Bucky murmured. “Do you like them?”

“I love them, Bucky.” She smiled, glancing back up at him, went on tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. “Will you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” He breathed.

“Could you give me a hand while I try to unbraid and remove all of the flowers and greenery from my hair?” She inquired.

“I only have the one, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Maggie blushed, shaking her head, “You _know_ what I mean.”

“I do.” He chuckled, leaning in, he kissed the top of her head. “Now. Let’s spread this blanket out, so I can help you with your hair.”

They unfurled the blanket and sunk to the ground facing each other. “Okay, how do you want to do this?” He asked uncertainly.

“Open your legs, I can sit between them, with my back to you, and we can work from opposite ends to pick out all the little flowers and leaves.” She replied.

Bucky nodded in agreement and moved behind her as Mags removed the tie from the end of the braid, situating herself between his legs. A breath hitched in his chest as she did. It was such a small thing, but her willingness to sit with her back to him never ceased to astound Bucky. The trust in her action that she knew he wasn’t going to hurt her or had no ill intentions spoke volumes.

“It’s a shame it is so hot outside; these flowers are just wilting something terrible.” She commented to herself sadly. “But, I suppose I’ll get to wear flowers in my hair that won’t wilt.”

He started his work without comment, gently removing each little flower, leaf, twig, and vine they’d managed to weave into her long dark, thick hair. His mind focused on the concept of flowers that wouldn’t wilt. It just felt _timely_ somehow, though he wasn’t sure he could put his finger on _why_ exactly. He was just grateful for the opportunity of closeness with her.

Maggie worked from the bottom, while he started on the crown, and they worked their way in silence toward one another, their fingers and hands occasionally brushing. The light touches and brushes, giving both of them momentary pause before they continued in their careful task. It was nearly dark by the time they got all of the greenery and flowers from her hair, and Bucky found himself combing through her hair with his fingers, his nose buried in her hair. She always smelled so wonderful, and now was no exception. In addition to the floral scents they’d infused, he could smell lemon and hints of hay and honeycomb. His hand paused a moment on her shoulder, and she brought her hand up to catch his. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“For?”

“Giving me a hand.” Bucky could hear the smile in her voice.

“Anytime.” He chuckled before he leaned down and kissed her neck first as the base of her jaw and then slowly to the gentle curve where the neck and shoulder met. Bucky could feel the goosebumps on her skin and hear her slow, shaky exhale.

Maggie took his hand and kissed the top of it before turning around to face him. The sky was going a soft shade of purple and pink, and the moon was starting to rise. In the dim and fading light, he could see the way she was looking at him. Her dark eyes were glassy, ready to cry, ready for more tears to fall. Yet she was looking at him with this look of absolute admiration. Why or how he could possibly deserve her looking at him like that, Bucky didn’t know.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked, her hands moving expertly to position the combs in her hair, one around her temple, the other near the base of her neck.

“About how wonderful you are.” He answered, honestly.

“You’re a cheese ball, Barnes,” Mags chuckled before she reached up and kissed him softly. Settling back down, she adjusted to where she was sideways against him and put her head against his chest. “Hold me.” It was no more than a whisper, but Bucky could feel the intensity of her request and wordlessly wrapped his arm around her. In response, she put both of her hands on his forearm, her fingers gently stroking his skin, raising goosebumps.

Bucky could feel her shaking, holding back silent tears. Whatever silent burden she was carrying, Bucky wished he could help her carry that load, help relieve it somehow. Yet, he knew that in some small part, _he_ was part of the reason for such a heavy load and that since he’d stumbled onto her ranch over three years before he’d only compounded that weight.

_‘No, I’m not okay, but maybe that’s okay too.’ _She’d said earlier. That she was working on being okay, and that maybe someday she might be okay, but right now, no.

What would he say if she asked him the same question? Was he okay? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure what “okay” even _meant, _only that he wanted everything to be okay.

Bucky lowered his face into Maggie’s hair and slowly sighed as a wave of exhaustion overtook him.

He was exhausted. He’d been exhausted for some time now, longer than he could possibly remember, and further than even memory could provide. The battle, the fight to be _okay,_ was a tiring one, and he could understand how even admitting that no, things weren’t okay was such a large, exhausting, and vulnerable admission.

A feeling of helplessness overtook him as he felt warm tears once again slip down Maggie’s face and soak into his shirt, the heat of her breath seeping into his skin. He’d caused so much pain, how could he possibly begin to make amends? How could he possibly begin to make right or even do right by them now that he had a _choice_ again?

“I know,” he whispered as she sniffled, inhaling a ragged breath. “I know,” Bucky repeated an audible lump in his throat.

He squeezed his eyes shut as the silent tears came slipping down his face and dripping into her hair. He could feel his breath begin to hitch, and his shoulders start to shake.

Maggie, hearing this, tilted her head up, craning her neck to kiss his jaw. “It’s been a rough day, hasn’t it?” She mumbled, almost inaudibly as she moved her hands to cradle his face, her thumbs stroking his cheeks, whipping away the tears that fell.

Bucky nodded with a sniffle, his eyes still shut, just taking in the warmth and gentleness of her hands against his face. He knew if he opened his eyes and met her’s so big and bright and kind and honest, he might lose all composure altogether.

“Yeah.” He breathed, “sorry.” He lowered his head, shame welling in his chest.

“There’s no shame in this, James Barnes,” She whispered. “It’s okay not to be okay sometimes, yanno?”

Bucky nodded, swallowing hard and sniffling. Here she was comforting him, it was almost more than he could bear, but he also couldn’t stand the idea of pulling from her grasp and sending her away. So instead, he just remained perfectly still, allowing her to stroke his face, and wipe his tears, as the sounds of the jungle and the night seeped in around them.

Eventually, his breathing evened, and his tears stopped falling. Mags lowered her hands to his shoulders, fingers playing with the fine hairs around his neck, a silent pillar of strength when he felt like the whole world was about to crumble.

He opened his eyes and found her dark gaze on him. Her hair was everywhere free of its tie, her face framed by the long lengths, and held back only with the combs. Her eyes were puffy and red from her own tears; her cheeks tinged with pink. “I guess tonight was a little more than what you signed on for.” She chuckled a definite note of self-deprecation and embarrassment in her voice.

“No.” Bucky shook his head, taking her left wrist in his hand, guided her hand to his right temple, and placed it firmly against his hair, aware that the pressure against his skull made his heart and his lungs clench. It was where they’d placed the electrodes, the ones that had made him forget, the ones that had made him commit unspeakable atrocities. Yet with her, he could remember, he could feel, he could forge a better future. She didn’t know the significance, not unless he told her, but it was there all the same. The trust and vulnerability she had shown him, he might not be able to enunciate it (yet), but he wanted to exhibit the same in turn. “Thank you for this, For all of this.” He managed.

Mags nodded, understanding perhaps, but not knowing, and cracked a small smile as she leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “Thank _you,_ James Barnes.”

Bucky exhaled, his hand released her wrist, and moved to draw her in closer, holding her to him. Mags ran her fingers through his hair, over his scalp, humming some soft little melody, and they just sat there in silence.

Hours must have passed before they moved away from each other, Just lost in their silence. It wasn’t pained or anguished at it had been weeks before in the eve before his prosthesis fitting. Instead, there was mutual understanding, each acknowledging the burden the other was carrying, and just trying to make it more manageable breath to breath, second to second, moment to moment.

How this would end was anyone’s guess, but what Bucky did know is that they had each other to help carry the weight. That even if they weren’t okay right now, they might be okay someday, and that was more than just okay. It was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed that chapter! It was a blast to write and it seems time in Quarantine Lockdown has given me time to procrastinate and write fic more frequently! I don't know when the next chapter is going to get written (I tried writing a bit last night and didn't like a dang thing, it's a process), but I look forward to posting it when I can. In the meantime, I hope that you are all well, that you're healthy and safe. And remember, it's okay not to be okay sometimes, particularly when we're going through a pandemic like this. Be kind to yourself, reach out to friends, and family when you need a helping hand. Until next time, Happy Reading!


	22. Depths Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> Recommended listening: Splish Splash by Bobby Darin; I’m With You by Avril Lavine; No Light + No Light by Florence + The Machine; What Sarah Said by Deathcab for Cutie
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=FMeAfyk5TGWku-MQgQpMzA

Maggie walked slowly down the path from where she usually met with her therapist.

They didn’t meet in an office, which was deeply appreciated. Offices brought up too many memories of college when she’d been at her lowest. This experience with a therapist had been unlike anything she could’ve imagined, and Maggie could only hope that she’d provided her clients with even a fraction of ease and assistance that her experience with Wakandan therapy. 

It had been an eventful few weeks since she and Bucky had spent the evening talking about their past together, about Bucky’s experiences on Last Chance.

That evening had lingered in her mind for days after the fact clinging to her like a hazy dream. Her therapist had been proud of her, and Maggie would even hazard to admit that she was proud of herself, too.

Proud of her ability to ask about the ranch. Proud that she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable around Bucky and likewise thankful for Bucky’s reciprocity of vulnerability and support.

The evening had also given her more to work on and unpack. Bucky’s answer to her question had outright stunned her. In a thousand years, she never would’ve imagined he’d thought about her and his time on the ranch like _that. _Sure, he’d told her he’d researched her, trying to understand who she’d been, when he’d thought she was dead.

That was different than what he’d told her that night.

_Her canned speech about choice._

She’d forgotten about that incident almost entirely, and the speech altogether.

Maggie did remember how afraid she’d been that her client, James, was going to discover the man in her barn and at the conflict and confrontation that might have occurred.

In truth, Maggie hadn’t even contemplated the possibility that he might have listened to what she was saying, let alone internalized the message.

_You saved me._

That statement alone had taken her and her therapist days to unpack and just recently borne fruits of realization. A realization she felt the need to talk through with Bucky. Which was why she was walking to his place in the middle of the week.

They’d seen more of each other since the green chili stew dinner. Now, in addition to Tuesday lunch, they also had Friday dinner where she would spend the night with him and go back home Saturday afternoon.

Only it was Wednesday. She’d just had a three-hour-long session with her therapist and now was in a rush to talk to Bucky before she lost her nerve or the energy.

What would Bucky say about her revelation? Would he look at her the same? Think of her the same way? Would it weird him out?

_What like this whole damn situation isn’t damn weird to begin with?_

Maggie stopped as she arrived outside Bucky’s dwelling. He wasn’t out front, and everything was quiet. Her heart started to race. She _had_ texted him before she’d started walking over. He knew she was her way. He’d told her it was okay for her to come over.

_So where the hell is he?_

“Bucky?” Maggie called out hesitantly.

“Around back, doll.” He answered, his voice accompanied by the sound of splashing water. “Just cleaning up, if wanna keep me company.”

Walking around to the back of the hut, she found him situated in the washtub, sitting in waist-deep water, rinsing out his hair. Maggie stood back a moment, enjoying the view of his muscular upper body, glistening in the afternoon sun.

“Admiring the view?” He asked dryly.

“I know a work of art when I see one.” She answered, a smile spreading across her face.

“Huh.” He humphed, “I’ve been called a piece of work, but never art before.”

“Well, first time for everything.” She replied, approaching the bathtub.

Leaning down, she planted a quick peck on his forehead, his face upturned toward her, his expression searching hers.

“How was your appointment?” he asked finally after a long moment of silent surveillance.

“Good. Productive.” Maggie answered breathlessly.

“You’re out early, everything okay?”

“Yeah. I had a bit of a realization, and would like to talk some things out with you if that’s okay.”

“Sure. Yeah. Of course.” He nodded thoughtfully. “So do you want me to get out, or would you like to get in?”

“In?” She echoed coyly, reaching down she flicked some water up at him.

Bucky chuckled. “I could pull you if you’d prefer to take some of the indecision out of it.”

“Yeah, but then I’d scream, people would come running.” She answered, moving in for a kiss.

“So a bigger scene than it’s worth, huh?” He murmured, their faces only inches apart, eyes bright and mischievous.

“Definitely.” Maggie agreed, closing the gap, she kissed him deeply.

Bucky leaned into the kiss, his hand moving to the back of her head, deepening the kiss.

After a moment, Maggie pulled away and surveyed Bucky carefully. “What?” He asked, brows knit together in concern.

Maggie cupped his face with her hands, contemplating her options. She knew that she _should_ tell him that she would wait for him to finish his bath and they could talk then. It was the responsible thing. Only she didn’t want to be responsible. She wanted to dive into the bathtub with reckless abandon and ignore all of the pressing horrible things spinning in her head.

“May I join you?” She asked softly.

“Yes.”

“All right then,” Maggie kissed his forehead before dropping her hands and taking a step back from the tub, “Move over, Barnes.”

Maggie set her bag aside, before shedding her boots and clothes, leaving them in a tidy pile outside of the splash zone.

Bucky was watching her, admiring her (which was somewhat baffling to her considering his other romantic partners), but she could also tell it wasn’t just him taking in the sight of her. There was concern there too. Was he searching her skin for signs of fresh self-harm? Or was he puzzling through what it was she was going to talk through with him? She wouldn’t blame him for either. Bucky’s intervention and inducement to see a therapist had forestalled any ability for her to follow through on her self harm tendencies. She’d thought about it certainly, and the urge had been strong during those four days she’d spent camping, but she’d resisted.

Stepping into the tub, Maggie did her best not to disturb the water as she settled across from Bucky. “Well, this is cozy.” She commented lightly as she adjusted to best preserve everyone’s personal space and private parts.

“Little bit.” He chuckled with a nod. “Soap?”

“Please. Thank you,” She answered. Taking the soap from him, she worked it into a lather, aware that Bucky was doing his best to watch her without actually watching her. “So, how was your day?”

“Good. Uneventful.” He paused “I would’ve gotten ready sooner if you’d told me—”

“And rob me of a bath with you?” She giggled, sticking a leg out of the bathwater to scrub it down with lather.

“You have a point.” He conceded, eyeing her leg, as she stuck it back into the water.

“I generally do, James Barnes.”

“Fair.” Then there were several beats of silence before he continued. “So, what’s going on, Mags?”

_Can’t I just enjoy the pleasure of your company?_ She wanted to answer back with a jaunty laugh. This instinct was followed closely by the urge to respond, _Nothing I’m fine._

Even Maggie knew that would’ve been counterproductive. It would only serve to undo all of the work she’d put in to try to unlearn her negative behavior patterns.

She took a deep breath, scrubbing down first her left arm and then her right one before she met Bucky’s expectant gaze. “We hit a couple tough things today and drew out a number of conclusions. They’re still buzzing around in my head.”

He nodded sympathetically but allowed her to continue without comment. “I suppose I should say thank you.” She said, scrubbing her fingernails fastidiously. “I’m not sure I would’ve ever made this progress on my own. First, you pushed me to go to therapy, and then you gave me such a wonderful gift a few weeks ago. In a million years, I never would’ve known what an impact I had you while you were on Last Chance with me. I never would’ve known that I _saved _you.” She practically choked on the last two words as tears pressed against the space just behind her eyes.

“Yes, and it’s true. Every word.” He said earnestly.

“I know. Or I mean, I know you wouldn’t lie to me about that. But I never thought—I mean, I didn’t imagine that I could have an impact like _that._ Sure I helped people, but saving them seemed something that was either impossible or something that I had habitually failed at.” Maggie shook her head. “I suppose all of this to say that for as long as I can recall, I’ve framed everything I’ve done in terms of failure, which tends to obscure both reality and the ways that I have succeeded. It makes it difficult to ask for help or admit you’re in over your head.” She took another deep breath, “It makes it impossible to be in a relationship when you feel responsible for the death of your previous partner. Like somehow I wasn’t good enough, strong enough to keep him safe. It makes you question yourself and every relationship you're in. It’s made me afraid to open up and to let someone in, because what if I fail again? What if I’m the reason they leave? Or get hurt? Or god, what if I lose someone again the way that I lost _Riley?”_ A tear slipped down her cheek, and she blinked, unaware that it had even started to form.

“Sorry. Sorry.” She sniffled, wiping at her face, with her forearm, trying to keep the soap out of her eyes. “you probably think I’m horrible and pathetic still being hung up on my ex almost five years after he passed away.”

“No.” Bucky answered, “No. Mags. I don’t think that.”

Maggie looked up at him, his brow knit together in fervent concern. “He was someone who meant a lot to you. Someone you thought you were going to get to build a life with, and you lost him in a horrible, horrible way.” Bucky continued when Maggie couldn’t find anything to say. “People who’ve impacted you, in one-way shape or form, they stay with you, and they’re important to you, even after they’re gone. I hadn’t known you all that long on Last Chance, and you had a profound impact on me, and in a way your memory became a part of me, long before I knew you were alive, or could even imagine what you are to me right now. I wouldn’t ask you to carve yourself up and remove all of the bits of you that still care for your husband. He was important to you. In the same way Steve and Natasha are important to me even if I’m not physically with them right now.” He moved toward her, sloshing the water in the tub to nearly spilling, and gingerly wiped away the tears that were still falling. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Maggie nodded, sniffling as she looked into his bright blue eyes, so concerned and patient as he soothed her. “Losing people is hard, but losing them horrible ways…I mean…I’ve lost a lot of people in horrible ways…that fucks you up.” She could hear her voice trembling. “And just knowing that you’ll go on active duty. Well. It frightens me.”

Bucky nodded thoughtfully, “Sounds like you need to get into relationships with people in less-lethal lines of work,” He said wryly, self-deprecation thick on his voice.

“If only it were that easy. Seems I have a thing for people in uniform.” She shook her head. “Unfortunately, I don’t think that would address the real problem or the underlying causes.” Maggie cleared her throat, feeling more in control of herself now. “But yeah. Thank you, Bucky.”

“You’re the one doing all of the heavy lifting, doll.”

“True, but you did give me a wonderful gift, a reminder of what I didn’t get to see very often in my line of work.”

“What’s that?”

“A success story.” She chewed on her lip and managed a half-smile.

“So, what’s the next step?”

“What? So far as not viewing my life as a series of failures? Or learning to stop worrying about you dying horrifically?” Maggie flinched at the harsh bitterness of her own words. She hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, or even come out at all, yet somehow the words had passed her lips, and she felt shame rise in her chest.

Bucky, however, didn’t flinch, didn’t move a muscle, or make any motion that indicated that he was upset at her words, or had even heard them at all.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” She said, her voice weak as her throat wrapped around the words, threatening to choke her entirely.

“I know they weren’t meant for me.” He answered slowly. “But I’m here to help in any way that I can, in any way that you want me or need me to be.”

Maggie nodded, clearing her throat. “Thank you. That means a lot. A lot of this, unfortunately, is on me. I have to learn how to ask for help. Learn how to rely upon others. Learn to re-think how I frame and conceptualize myself and my achievements. A lot of unlearning has to happen, but I’m working on it.”

“I understand. And I know it’s difficult. Trust me. But I’m glad you’re doing the work, and again, I’m happy to help in any way that I can.”

Maggie paused, searching for some way to break the tension gathering between them. “Well then, could you get my back for me, please?”

“Absolutely.”

Maggie turned, and they faded into silence as Bucky took the soap from her and started to wash her back. She felt wound up still like at any moment she might snap from the tension. She felt guilty for lashing out like that, and of course, Bucky had been right. They hadn’t been directed at him. They’d been directed inward, which somehow felt worse. If it had been something between them, they could talk about it and work through it. They were good at that, or rather were getting better at that. But, the fact that all of this shit was internal, all in her head, all going on outside the boundaries of an interpersonal relationship. She had to figure this out and make this right with herself.

_God, I can hear Sam now. ‘I told you, so I told you so.’ He’d say. _He would be right to do so, Maggie knew. He would also be grateful that she was seeking help, professional help. He’d be proud of her. Riley would be proud of her. Hell, Bucky WAS proud of her. Yet she felt like she was letting him down, letting all of them down, by not being able to improve faster, by not being able to make it right _now._

_It’s a process, you know it’s a process. _She reminded herself.

“I declare you squeaky clean, doll.” Bucky murmured as he kissed the back of her neck, where her shoulders and neck met.

“Do you now? So I guess it’s time to get out?”

“Well, we don’t want to get all pruny do we?” He chuckled.

“No, I suppose not.” Maggie agreed. “But, Bucky?” She added, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, really, I mean it. Things have been difficult lately, and I know that it’s not fun to deal with me like this—”

“You mean support you while you’re working on your mental health?” He countered.

Maggie sighed nodding. “Okay, yeah, I guess you have me there. It’s just. I mean, I know you have shit going on.”

“I do.” He agreed, “But I’m at a place right now where I can support you while you’re working on your mental health, while also managing my own. In a few weeks, who knows.” Bucky shrugged.

“Okay, okay, fair. It’s just. I’m not used to—” she stopped as tumblers clicked in her brain, and she processed what he’d said. Not necessarily just what he’d said, but also _how _he’d said it. “Wait.” She turned around to face him, slipping and sliding in the tub and splashing the water wildly. “What’s going on in a few weeks?”

Bucky took a deep breath. “When I said I understand that asking for help and reaching out to others is difficult, I meant it.” He chuckled weakly. “Ummm yeah. I figured you’d want to know this before it crept up too close, but I know that with everything you have going on, it might not be a good time.” He stopped. Mentally took a step back, charted his path, and then continued. “The Princess wants me to come in for another round of fittings. I think she’s going to send me home with a prosthesis to test long term, but she’s also going to measure me for some tactical protective wear.” He explained slowly, every word coming out with clean and precise lines, every syllable carefully pronounced like he was crafting them with laser precision. “It may help to see that The Princess and I are taking every possible measure to keep me safe when I do go out into the field.” Again he paused. “If at all possible I’d like you to come with me again. I like having you there with me. You make me feel less like a sideshow—You make me feel human, and when I’m being poked and prodded, I need all the reminders I can get.” Bucky admitted. 

Maggie nodded, swallowing hard as her mouth went dry. There were two ways that this could go down. Two choices that she could make, and there could be multiple outcomes to either.

She knew she should, as his partner and friend. He valued her presence and appreciated the support. That was true enough. However, Maggie wasn’t sure if she _should_ go, being the mental basket case that she was at the moment.

_This isn’t about me. This is about Bucky. This shit must be scary as hell for him, and you’re making this about you? Why? Because you’re afraid he’s going to go out there and die? Because the arm means something to you? Really? Get a grip. He doesn’t want to die any more than you do._

She was going to go, and she was going to handle it like a champion because if Bucky was going to do this, he shouldn’t have to do this alone.

“Sure. Just give me the details, and I’ll clear my schedule.:

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” She echoed.

“You’re sure.”

“Like I said before, as a team.”

It was stupid. Brave sure, but foolhardy, and she’d be willing to admit that too if pressed. “Bucky,” She continued. “You walked ten miles to make sure I was okay. You walked with me to therapy that first day when I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin. You’ve consistently shown up and been there for me. What the hell kind of partner would I be if I didn’t show up for you?”

“Someone protecting their mental health and well being.”

Memories of that day, when she’d sobbed so hard she thought she was going to blackout. But she’d improved since then, right? She’d been to therapy and talked it through and have revelations and breakthrough working on her coping mechanisms and her ability to communicate with her partner as well as the people around her.

“I want to be there with you and for you, and now that you’ve given me a heads up, I can look after my mental health and support you on your journey.” She answered firmly.

“I just don’t want—” He cut himself off.

“To be a burden?” Maggie raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” He breathed, eyes focused down on the bathwater.

“Hey.” Maggie put two fingers under Bucky’s chin, tilting his head so that she could see his eyes. They were bright and searching her face, almost desperately, looking for something. “I’m honored to be invited along. You’re not a burden. This isn’t burdensome.” She planted a quick kiss on his cheek before retracting her hand. “Besides, the princess did say last time that she’d show me the lab if I came back and that I could see your brain.”

“True.” He conceded with a nod.

“So, are you excited?” Maggie inquired gently.

“For?”

“The second round of testing? Long term data analysis? Any of it?” It would be better, Maggie knew, at least in her mind, if Bucky was excited. It would be easier to stomach if he was looking forward to the experience in some way. Yet, Maggie suspected that, like most things, it was complicated. How could it not be?

“I wouldn’t say excited per-say, but I am eager to see what the princess had come up with.”

“I’m sure she’s practically vibrating with excitement.”

“She’s very enthusiastic. We’ve been in a back and forth text change about specs for weeks now. If I didn’t already have a standing appointment, she would’ve dragged me into the lab by now.”

Maggie nodded with a faint smile.

“What?” Bucky asked.

“What do you mean, what?” She countered, uncertain of what had prompted the question.

“You have the ‘I have a question, but I don’t know if I want to ask it,’ expression.”

So he’d seen that. To be honest, Maggie hadn’t even realized that she’d been making a face at all. “What if it is just my face?” She asked wryly.

“No. I’ve studied your face. I know what your face looks like, and that, Mags, is your I have a question face.”

“Okay, okay, fair.” She exhaled and nodded. “I guess above everything else. I just want to make sure that you want this. That you are actively involved and making the choice to go through with this. That this is a choice, your choice.” Maggie paused, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. The words aren’t coming outright.” She stammered.

“You want to know if I even want he prosthesis, or if this is something that someone else has devised for me.” He answered slowly.

Again, Maggie nodded.

“A bit of both,” Bucky admitted, combing his hand through his hair, he looked past her, his expression growing grave. “I did a lot of bad things when I was with Hydra. The arm, the prosthesis, is a chance to do something good. A chance to work toward undoing what Hydra made me do. It’s a tool. When I was with Hydra, it was a tool used for destruction and death. Now I get to chose what I do.” He sighed, lowering his hand to where it just skimmed the surface of the water, his eyes following. “Right now, I’d rather be the goat herder, but when an opportunity presents itself for me to repay the debt I owe…I need to be ready.”

Maggie didn’t say anything. There was nothing more to add. As she suspected, it was complicated, and she could understand all of that—both a sense of duty and obligation warring with wants and needs. Yet there was a small, selfish and horrible, part of her that was glad, glad he didn’t want to go back out there, wasn’t ready to go back out there. Yet, the rest of her knew that in the end, he _wouldn’t_ get a choice of when, where, or how he’d return to the world of heroes and villains, Aliens, and gods. So, for now, his choice was to prepare the best he could now so that it wouldn’t be thrust upon him later.

“I’m glad to go with you,” Maggie said finally.

“I’m glad you’re coming with me.” He replied.

“Always.” She smiled, leaning back in she kissed him. “Now come on. We’re going to turn into prunes if we stay in the water much longer.”

They got out of the tub and dried off. Bucky let Maggie borrow some of his clothes, rather than return to her dirty work clothes, and they spent the rest of the afternoon preparing dinner and talking about their day. Jelani was putting up a windmill for the shop and had spent a better part of the day talking her through how the whole thing worked. Likewise, Omondi had started teaching Bucky how to plan and plant his own garden and had given him several starter plants, which they transplanted after dinner.

They talked and laughed and teased each other, Maggie savoring the close intimacy of the gentle brushes, and touches as they passed things back and forth, or exchanged quick kisses as they worked.

Then, as the sun started to go down, Maggie knew it was time for her to go back to her place. They’d seen one another more frequently, but still, she wasn’t going to stay over on a work night. Bucky knew it, too, and gave her the space to change back into her clothes and pull on her boots.

Collecting her things, she turned to face him, aware of his watchful gaze. “Thank you for having me over.” She said as they stepped toward one another, only two feet apart.

“I’m glad you did.” He paused, “Thank you for telling me about your breakthrough. I’m glad that I helped let me know what I can do to continue to support you.”

“Just letting me talk is appreciated and welcome.” She answered, taking his hand in hers. “Sometimes, _just_ writing things down isn’t enough to get them out of your head. Sometimes you need someone else to hear them. So thank you for listening.”

“I’m glad to.” He nodded. He opened his mouth but clamped it shut a moment, silently battling himself to decide what he was going to say next. “You don’t _have_ to go with me.” He managed finally.

“No.” She agreed. “But I want to. In fact, give me the information now so I can put it in my calendar, and ask for time off and all of the other appropriate things that I can be there with you.” I

Bucky shook his head but said nothing as he pulled his hand from hers and opened his calendar. “All the information should be there.” He extended his wrist to her, and she tapped her Kimoyo bracelet against his.

The bracelet buzzed, transferring the data, and she retracted her wrist, smiling at him. “I’ll get to see the inside of your brain, and it’ll be a good all-around experience.” She reached up tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Maggie wanted it to be a good all-around experience, more than anything. If not for her sake, then definitely for Bucky’s. He deserved that. Deserved something good, something positive in his life, and at the moment, she didn’t necessarily feel like that bright spark.

Instead, she felt like an exposed nerve, raw, and unpredictable. She hated it, hated that vulnerable, naked feeling.

_You mean being in love with another human being and sharing your wounds and scars with them?_

She’d known for a while now that she was in love with him, with James Barnes. She’d known that the night that she’d watched him and Steve across the fire at Steve’s birthday. Perhaps that’s part of what had alarmed her, the realization that she loved him, and now only to get him taken away.

Of course, Maggie hadn’t told him that she loved him. It would only make things difficult and messy. It would admit a deeper attachment than she was willing to fess up to. Furthermore, she was worried that he would spook and immediately push her away.

“Let me know when you make it home safely,” He murmured, his arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her to him for a kiss.

“Will do.” She answered into the kiss, closing her eyes and savoring the closeness, enjoying the moment as long as she could, enjoying how _safe_ she felt around Bucky.

Safe. Yes. She never would’ve imagined _that_ would be the word she’d associate with him, but she did, and she felt safest in his embrace, which was strong but gentle, firm and reassuring. It was why she was able to be so vulnerable around him.

They parted, and exchanging another round of farewells, along with a few more brief kisses, Maggie walked back to her village. Her mind thrummed with all that she had told him, but also what he had told her: the appointment, his feelings about the prosthesis, and how her presence comforted him.

_He wants me with him, and so I’ll do my best to make sure I’m ready this time._

And to her credit, by the time the appointment came, she did feel ready, prepared to support her partner in any way she could during his check-up and prosthesis fitting.

They wound through the streets of the capital, hand in hand. Maggie followed Bucky’s lead, her gaze trailing to the people going about their business. Bucky was intent, focused on their final destination, while Maggie took in the sight of everything. The bright colors, the throngs of people and mix of sounds and smells of human, animal, artificial and otherwise reminded her of walking through New York City. The towering skyscrapers blended with the street vendors and shops below. The architecture and design, however, planted her firmly in the locale she inhabited.

They arrived at the Royal Labs and were met by The Princess, who bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet as they approached the lift where she waited.

“Magdalene! I’m so glad you came!” She announced as they reached her.

“Of course, glad to be invited back.” Maggie managed, feeling the slightest off balance by all of the attention.

Had Bucky mentioned something? Or had her discomfort been so obvious the last time that the Princess had picked up on it as well.

“Your memories gave me a lot of good information, and I did promise a tour, and a peek inside White Boy’s brain.”

Well, she had taken a peek inside her brain last time, so that would explain why the Princess knew that Maggie had felt less than one hundred percent. Hopefully, there would not be a repeat of what had transpired last time.

“You did. I also wanted to see what you’ve cooked up for him since the last time I was here. I was told that he was also fitting for body armor today as well.”

“That he is, that he is.” She agreed. “Now, let’s head downstairs, and we can get your appointment underway, eh?” The Princess inquired, addressing Bucky for the first time.

“Sounds good.” He nodded, cracking a small smile, squeezed Maggie’s hand in his.

They entered the lift, and Maggie turned to the back facing window, watching as they started their descent into the ground, and the glittering Vibranium mines. She hadn’t paid much attention to her surroundings the first or even the second time she’d been in the royal labs, but now as she held Bucky’s hand and gazed out into the massive mining operation, felt humbled by what she was seeing. “So, you’re in charge of all of this?” Maggie asked.

“No. A lot of what my labs create will filter out to the rest of Wakandan’s operations, but I am only in charge of the Wakandan Science Research and Design division.”

“That makes sense, sounds reasonable.” She couldn’t quite think of anything else to say that wouldn’t consist of, ‘holy shit you’re like what seventeen? eighteen? years old and in charge of more resources, people, and in possession of a great intellect than I could fathom at my ripe old age of 32.’

Instead of saying any of this, Maggie glanced up at Bucky, who had likewise turned to the rear-facing window, his eyes scanning the magnificent glittering Vibranium mines, his eyes following the trains that zoomed and large machinery that worked unaware and unaffected by their presence. There was a look of wonder alight in his eyes, a near smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Amazing, right?” He murmured, quickly squeezing her hand, glancing at her before returning his full attention to the scene before them.

“It is.” She agreed, admiring the look of pure awe that radiated from his features, his expression lighter, his eyes bright in the reflection of the glass elevator.

_The man should’ve been an engineer, a scientist, someone who creates, someone who wonders how the world works and tries to dissect it. Not what the world made him be, not what was being forced upon him now._

A sudden wave of sadness came over her, but before it could overwhelm her entirely the lift stopped, and The Princess ushered them out into the lab. Unlike last time, when the laboratory had been silent as the grave and completely deserted, it bustled with activity and noise as music played and a whole array of Wakandan scientists went about their various tasks, moving freely around the large space. There was sound and color and movement, and Maggie was only vaguely aware that they were being led down to where the examination table was situated while the Princess talked with Bucky.

“Okay, White Boy, you know the drill. Give Magdalen your satchel, and get up on the table.” The Princess instructed as they stepped inside the examination chamber.

Bucky released Maggie’s hand, and removed his satchel, extending it to her. “Will you hold on to that for me?” He asked softly, his eyes scanning her with a hint of uncertainty, though what he was uncertain about, Maggie wasn’t sure.

“Absolutely.” She agreed with a soft nod as she extended both hands to take the satchel.

After passing off his bag, Bucky climbed up on the table and lay back. The Princess took up her station at the head of the table, opening a variety of holographic controls from her Kimoyo bracelet.

On the round walls of the examination area, there were readouts of all of Bucky’s vitals, and hovering just over Bucky’s head a projection of what Maggie assumed were his brain waves.

“You can come closer and talk with him if you’d like. Outside stimulus is good for the scan. It gives me more data to plot what is considered normal for his brain.” The Princess said without looking up from the array of screens and data streaming in front of her.

Maggie looked to Bucky, who waved her over with a motion of his hand, and she acquiesced silently approaching the examination table, adjusting the satchel over her shoulder, took his outstretched hand.

His hand was cold and clammy but steady as she grasped it in both hers. Uncertain of where to direct her gaze, she glanced between Bucky and the hologram hovering just over his head.

“So, what do you think?” His voice was low and soft as he asked, and drew her attention down to him.

“Of?” There was so much to take in, she wasn’t entirely sure to what he referred, but the playfulness in his expression indicated that this wasn’t a serious question and instead he was trying to lighten the mood.

“My brain.”

“Oh. Right.” She looked up at the hologram, her eyes trying to focus on what they were seeing.

“You’re only seeing a part of his brain,” The Princess explained, and with a motion of her hand and a flick of her wrist, they zoomed out to where the whole of the brain was visible. “I was running diagnostics on the chip I’ve implanted at the stem of his brain to regulate the electrical impulses in his brain and will enable him to control the prosthesis.”

“So, he was experiencing seizures?” She paused, and looked down at Bucky, making eye contact with him. “You experienced seizures while you were on the run?”

Bucky nodded. “A lifetime of mind wipe will fuck with your brain.”

“I wondered.” She answered grimly.

“A number of your hunches were very good. You have a smart girlfriend, white boy.” The Princess interjected.

Maggie blushed, rolling her eyes. “Thanks? I think?”

“What? You don’t think you’re smart?” The Princess pressed.

“I’m just used to that statement being followed by ass. So it’s a little bit of a foreign concept.”

This drew a small chuckle from Bucky, who squeezed her hand affectionately. On the screen there was a splash of color, and a broad grin spread over the Princess’s face. “Did you see the way that lit up?” She inquired but didn’t wait for Maggie to respond before she continued. “That only happens to that level when he’s talking or thinking about you. You are positively coded in his brain, both long term, and short term.”

“Long term as in last October? Or long term as in April 2014?” She inquired.

“April 2014.”

Maggie glanced down at Bucky, who was watching her. When their eyes met, he gave the slightest of nods, expressing more in that nod than he could’ve said in words. _See, you’ve always been a positive force in my life. _

God, how she wished it could be the same for her. How she wished she could think about that time on the ranch positively, or even during their search to bring him back. There had been moments, certainly, but overwhelmingly she’d been focused on bringing in the Winter Soldier, and was now having a hard time reconciling the man she knew and loved her in Wakanda versus everything else she _knew _about him from the before. It was part of what was making this whole thing so difficult, reconciling the different facets of Bucky and his life and his experiences into one individual.

“So, I really do mess with your brain chemistry, huh?” She asked with a widening smile.

“You know if I said something like that, you would accuse me of being cheesy.”

“Because you are.” Maggie fired back with a light laugh, watching the display out of the corner of her eyes light up with different colors.

Bucky rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “So how am I looking, Princess?”

“Good. Your brain looks healthy, and the chip is working as it should. We’re nearly done with the scan, and can start the fitting for the prosthesis and your jacket.” She glanced up at Maggie, “sound good?”

“Ye-yeah.” She stammered in response, as though she had any say in the matter.

The scan concluded, and the Princess ushered them over to the same work station they’d set up at last time. Bucky and the Princess were talking about his goats, and the village, while Maggie trailed behind trying to take everything in, her gaze wandering back to the large floor to ceiling windows and the sparkling mines beyond.

“We’ll begin with fitting the prosthesis, and then we’ll work a bit on the fit and design of your jacket. I’ve taken some liberties and worked up a few options for the jacket design.” The Princess’s voice brought her back, and Maggie found they were standing in front of the workbench, where the prosthesis and four different styles and cuts of jacket were on display. “Going to need you to take off your shirt, scarf, and the joint cap.” She continued, as Bucky climbed up on the table and started to remove his scarf.

“Give them here. I can hold on to them for you.” Maggie managed, finding her voice as she stepped toward him.

Bucky nodded, handing her the scarf, his fingers slowly worked the buttons of his shirt. Wordlessly, he shrugged it off and gave it to her, before finally reaching up to remove the joint cover. He met her gaze as he handed her the small woolen cap, his expression grave. His hand paused a moment, fingers wrapping around her wrist, gently caressing the soft skin of her forearm. “I’m okay, Mags. This doesn’t hurt me.” He murmured. 

She nodded, swallowing hard, but gave no other reply. Bucky nodded and released his light hold her wrist, allowing her to step back to provide the Princess with space to work.

“So. I’ve already run diagnostics on the arm and paired it with the chip, so you could, if you chose, control it without it being physically attached.” The Princess explained. “I have also added locking mechanisms, which you will be able to engage and disengage on your own for ease of access.” She picked up the prosthesis and extended it to Maggie. “Aside from White Boy, you’re the only one I have access to who felt his previous model when it was near deadweight. For comparison’s sake, and if it’s okay with him, I’d like you to hold what I’ve worked up, just to see how it feels as far as weight.”

Maggie glanced at Bucky, who nodded, and then back at The Princess, who extended the prosthesis to her, which she took in both hands. It wasn’t as heavy as she expected, but it still was awkward to manipulate. Instead of the metal plates, which had been the key feature of the winter soldier prosthesis, as well as the prototypes the Princess had worked up for him to test last time, there was a transparent, pliable membrane covering the surface. The metal plates were still there, just underneath the surface.

“What do you think?” The Princess inquired.

“Uhhh. It’s lighter. A lot lighter. What’s the purpose of the membrane, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I am working on creating a synthetic nervous system that creates the same sensory input as skin. This membrane wouldn’t be present necessarily on anything graded for combat, but as an everyday wear prosthesis thought it would be appropriate to test.” She explained, taking the prosthesis back turned to Bucky. “Let me explain how you’re going put on and take off the arm when you’re not in my lab. I’d like for you to keep the arm on for the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours, and then you can wear it as long as you’re comfortable. If at any point anything tugs, pinches, pulls or otherwise feels bad, take it off and return it to me so we can work another model up for you try.” 

Bucky nodded, and The Princess continued with her explanation and started explaining the newly added features. They didn’t call her a genius for nothing. The locking mechanism was hidden within the arm’s structure, and the lock was engaged or disengaged by pressing a series of panels under the arm, near the armpit. When he put the prosthesis on, he would press the panels in any order he chose and then repeated that pattern to initiate the lock. Then when it came time for him to remove it, he would press the panels in the pattern again for it to unlock. It could be changed or altered every time he wore the arm, and the panels were indistinguishable from the rest of the arm, meaning hostile parties wouldn’t be able to remove the arm at will.

After Bucky practiced putting on and taking off the prosthesis and testing out the locking mechanism a couple of times, The Princess issued him an undershirt, and they started working through the array of the jackets she had designed for him. They varied in style and function, one looking more like a special Wakandan guard with magnificent chest piece and scarf, while the other looked closer to a simple leather jacket. Each had been created with Wakandan technology and capabilities, and each a work of art unto themselves.

Maggie stood back, allowing them their space, doing her best to ignore their discussion of what each jacket was capable of shielding him from, her heart pounding in her ears.

_They’re working to keep him safe. They’re doing all of this to keep him safe. _Maggie reminded herself over and over.

So rather than participating in their conversation, Maggie focused on Bucky, watching his body language and expression as he and the Princess talked through design, form, and function. She also watched the way he moved now and how he and his body were reacting to having with the prosthesis attached.

While she could’ve told you it wasn’t as heavy as the other arm, seeing it on Bucky was another thing entirely. It didn’t pull at his shoulder. It certainly didn’t give him the familiar swinging gait she had noticed back when he was on the ranch with her or the familiar, haunting, stride of the Winter Soldier she’d seen in footage passed along to her by Natasha. 

Yet Bucky wasn’t quite used to the additional weight either and had an off-balanced look as he walked around the lab and put on and removed each of the test jackets. Likewise, he fumbled with the buttons as he dressed, the fingers of the prosthesis more in the way than if he’d only had the one hand.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asked lightly as Maggie handed him his scarf, and he adjusted it around his neck.

“No. Not too bad.” She smiled, glancing around.

The Princess had stepped away to give Bucky some space to get dressed and was on the other side of the lab talking with a couple of the lead engineers.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice was low, an edge of urgency to his tone, and Maggie’s turned back to face him. His brows furrowed, eyes searching, expression wrinkled in concern. “You okay? How you holding up?”

“Good. I’m good.” She answered, which was mostly true. She was tired, she hadn’t slept well the night before, and so she was feeling run down emotionally and physically after the appointment. But she felt good about what had been accomplished, and it helped that Bucky was apparently pleased with the prosthesis and going into long term testing.

Bucky nodded, rising from the workbench, and extended his right hand to her. “Thanks for holding my satchel, and for being here today, I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Maggie replied, returning his bag to him. He slung it across him, adjusting the strap across his body. “Glad to be here.”

He looked at her, his eyes still searching, still concerned, and then just as he opened his mouth to say something, the Princess reappeared. “Are you ready for your tour, Magdalene?” She announced.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Maggie supplied brightly.

“Let's get to it then. Follow me!”

Maggie glanced up at Bucky who’s expression had morphed from one of concern to one of bemusement. She opened her mouth to speak. She wanted to know what he was going to say before the Princess had interrupted.

“Come on. She’s not going to wait for us, and we don’t want to get lost.” He commented, extending his right hand to her, she took it, and they continued behind her in the large expanse of the Royal Wakandan Labs, a gigantic chasm between them, and Maggie ventured that at the moment that chasm was only widening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it wasn't the most action-packed chapter, but I think this one had some charm. I hope you all enjoyed and I can't wait to hear what you think. I likewise hope that you and yours are staying safe and healthy during the ongoing Pandemic. Fortunately for me, classes for the Spring are finished, and I have a few weeks before Summer 1 begins. I have big plans for the next few chapters and can't wait to share them with you. We're nearing the end of this fic (and dare I say it even the end of the series, though don't worry this is going to have 4 parts so we have a bit more after we finish In the here and now). Feeling all sorts of things about the journey I've put Mags and Bucky on, and I can't say thank you enough for taking this journey with me!
> 
> There is so much more to come, but until next time, Happy Reading!


	23. I'm Still Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: I’m Still Here by John Rzeznik; Serenade in Blue by Glenn Miller; A String of Pearls by Glenn Miller; Body and Soul by Benny Goodman
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=ycDH60edRVWzkmOn7qNTcg

_So, what do you think?_

That’s what he’d wanted to ask her in the lab. That what’s he’d been trying to find a way to ask all afternoon to no avail. There hadn’t been an appropriate time or place to ask.

The tour of the Royal Labs had taken about an hour and a half. It wasn’t a particularly long tour, and watching Mags for the duration had been wonderful. She’d asked detailed and complex questions, and Bucky had enjoyed watching the back and forth she’d had with the Princess, especially when it came to the deep space telescope.

Then, just as the tour had concluded, and Bucky was sure they’d be able to make a break for it, the King had arrived and invited them to lunch with The Royal Family and Nakia. Mags had accepted graciously, and they’d sat through the lunch.

They were lovely, and Bucky was eternally grateful that he and King T’Challa were on better terms than they had been over a year ago now, but he was exhausted and feeling off-balance. Plus, with a full complement of hands and arms, Bucky felt clumsy and out of place. When the luncheon had finally concluded, and they'd excused themselves, Mags mentioned that she needed to pick somethings up in the market before they headed back out to the village.

It wasn’t too crowded in the hours between lunch and end of workday, but still filled with people, and he was aware of the eyes on them, on him.

He’d become accustomed to the stares, glances, and double-takes, but now it felt like pins and needles on his skin.

He also felt frantic about what to do about the extra limb he found himself in possession of.

How the fuck he’d managed with two hands he didn’t know.

No. That wasn’t it. Rather, he hadn’t existed with both arms in the open, on display, outside of missions. He didn’t know what to do with both hands.

What had he done before? He couldn’t quite recall.

So he just held onto the strap of his satchel with both hands and trailed after Mags like a lost puppy.

_What do you think?_ He wanted to ask as they wandered from stall to stall.

_How does it look? _He wanted to inquire or interject as he inspected the produced before she purchased it.

A thousand ways and thirty languages and a million possible different variations he wanted to ask, yet he couldn’t find the words.

Was that it? He couldn’t find the right words? Or was it that he was afraid of what she might say. Was he prepared for that? He wasn’t sure he was ready to hear what she might say or worse what she wouldn’t say. For someone so guarded, someone so good at putting on a mask to pretend that she was okay, her eyes were expressive and gave away a lot of what she was thinking.

He’d learned how to read body language, facial expressions, and non-verbal cutes over a lifetime of working as a spy.

Now that he was attuned to her particular set of cues, Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to hear or see the answer to his question.

“Tired?”

Her voice dragged him out of his head and back to the bumping jolting cart that carried them back home. “Yeah.” He nodded his voice a breathless whisper.

“It’s been a long day. Longer than I think either of us expected.” She chuckled dryly, with a shake of her head.

“Sorry about that.”

“Me too. I know you probably didn’t want to be dragged around the market after lunch. Thank you for humoring me.”

“Of course. Thank you for coming with me today.”

“Always,” She sighed, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “The Princess’s energy can’t be matched. I think that’s how you can tell she’s a teenager. Her energy is enviable.”

“She reminds me of Becca as a teenager. Though the Princess is a few years older than Becca was the last time I saw her.” Bucky commented.

“Yeah. I could see that.”

“I think they would have gotten along.”

“That I could definitely see,” Maggie laughed.

They both faded off, neither of them apparently feeling up to carrying a conversation. Instead, Mags just sighed, leaning her head against him. “I think when we get in, we should make dinner, perhaps dancing while we’re at it.”

“That sounds wonderful.” He answered, leaning down, he kissed the top of her head.

Mags smiled at the motion but made no other movement as the cart rocked them gently back and forth. She looked relaxed now or more relaxed than she had back in the lab, and he savored the casual intimacy of the moment.

How would that change now? He’d somehow been worried that she would be repulsed or somehow see him as less than when he hadn’t worn a prosthesis. He’d been convinced that he was a mere shade of the Bucky Barnes that had been. She’d convinced him that wasn’t the case. Now with the prosthesis, did that make him the shade of what he’d been, who he was, or what he might become? The Winter Soldier and the weight of everything long looming large over his life and his very existence. Could she love that man? Would she? Did he want to put that to the test and find out?”

The cart stopped, and Mags sat back up, her eyes fluttering open. She smiled at him. “Come on, James, let’s get home and get to dinner before it gets too late.” She yawned, hopping down from the cart and collecting her things.

“So dinner and dancing, huh?” He continued as they walked back to his house.

“Well, we don’t have to, we could watch a movie if you’re not up for dancing.” She shrugged.

“No. No. That sounds like fun.” Bucky paused, taking her swinging hand in his right. “Would you stay the night?”

Mags stopped in the path, glancing him up and down. “Would you like me to stay?”

“I would.”

“Then, I’ll stay.” She reached up, pecking him on the cheek before she continued down the path.

“Did you enjoy the tour?” He asked brightly as they walked.

“Of the lab? Yeah! It was phenomenal! In another life, I would’ve been an astronomer. The deep space telescope was really freaking cool.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I did very much.” She let go of his hand as they walked up to his hut. “I’m going to duck inside and change. Then we can start on dinner.”

“All right. Sounds like a plan.” He nodded, wringing both hands together as she disappeared inside.

Bucky glanced around, his mind rushing and racing as his brain tried to grasp onto one singular objective. Dinner and dancing. They were going to make dinner, and they were going to dance. They’d done that before, many, many times. It was something he generally looked forward to. So why was his head spinning? Why did he feel so on edge? _Fire, I need to start a fire for dinner._ His brain clung to the singular idea. It was actionable and straightforward.

He went about the task of gathering wood and kindling for the fire. 

_So, What do you think? How does it look? Do you like it? Does it suit me? _

On and on his brain spun as he worked up the fire to get cooking coals.

“So, what are your thoughts?” He looked up from where he was kneeling in front of the fire to find that she had changed into a jumpsuit. Her hair was down from its usual twisted wrap around her head but still braided in a long loose braid that draped over her shoulder.

“I think you look lovely.” Bucky stammered.

Mags beamed, “Thank you, but I meant for music this evening, I think it was your turn to pick the tunes. I started last time.”

“Oh.” That had completely slipped his mind. “Yeah. Right. That.” He shook his head, feeling off-balance and disoriented.

“You all right?” Mags furrowed her brows, surveying him in concern.

“Tired.”

She nodded, “Then we should get to making dinner, and we can forget dancing so that we can both call it a night early. We’ve both had a really long day.”

“No. No. I’d like to dance. I’m just a little…scattered.”

“If you’re sure,” Mags said, her expression firm and earnest as she surveyed him.

“I’m sure.” He replied.

She nodded quickly, kissing him on the cheek, moved around the campsite unpacking her bag from earlier, and started dinner preparations. Her step was light, and she moved around him like a dance.

“Do you want my help? What can I do?” He asked as she sat down at the table to clean and chop vegetables.

“Select the music and get out the everyday pan. This shouldn’t take too long. The meat is already clean, and the rice isn’t going to take long to cook.” She replied lightly, and with a glance, she smiled at him.

He returned the smile, and Mags resumed her work. Bucky turned to his Kimoyo bracelet. Stopping as he started opening the music application with one hand, he slowly lifted the left hand to work the hologram. Would it respond to the cybernetic limb? He reached out and prodded at the hologram experimentally, feeling awkward as he tried to manipulate the graphics. After a moment, he managed to figure out how to use the screen and scrolled through his playlist, his eyes scanning the selection of music. Miller, it always seemed to come back to Miller for him, for whatever reason, but at present, Miller felt like a comforting blanket, and he wasn’t going to question the choice.

“Ooh. I like this one.” Mags cooed as ‘Serenade in Blue’ started to play.

“I’m glad.” He answered, swallowing a lump in his throat, trying to ignore why there would be a lump at all.

Collecting the everyday pan, he placed it at her left elbow. “Anything else I can do to help?”

“I’ve been concocting this all day, so it should be a quick make, but a cup of water would be appreciated.”

Bucky nodded and went to the giant barrel of reclaimed rain water. Holding the cup in his right hand, he turned the spout with the prosthesis, trying to gauge pressure and tune fine motor skills. Successfully filling the cup, he turned the spout off again and walked over to where Mags was sitting. “Here you are.” He said, placing the prosthesis on her shoulder as he bent down over her to set the cup at her elbow.

Mags flinched as the prosthesis made contact with her skin, and he yanked the prosthesis back, practically dropping the cup of water on the table where she worked. She glanced up at him, pain and regret filling her features as she opened her mouth to speak.

“Sorry. Sorry.” He cut her off quickly, wringing his hands together as he took a firm step back.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Mags answered gently, looking as though she was going to say more, they maintained eye contact a moment before she broke his gaze, and looked back down at her work.

Should he say something more? Ask her why she flinched? What would it prove? What would it do other than make an already difficult situation all the more complicated?

_So what you’re going to wait her out?_

That was his other option, and it seemed like a safer bet while he tried to piece together what had just happened and how it made him feel. They worked to prepare the rest of dinner in silence, Bucky cleaned up the work station and set the table while she chopped and sliced, and stirred, and added ingredients to the pan.

By the time they sat down for dinner, Bucky still didn’t know what he was feeling, but they started their meal without incident. Slowly the eased into comfortable dinner conversation: what the kids were up to, and their various projects and to-do lists at their day jobs.

“So, are we going to dance?” She asked lightly as ‘A String of Pearls’ started to play.

“Oh. I wasn’t sure if you still wanted to. I mean, I wasn’t sure if. If that’s something you want to do,” He stammered.

“Of course. I never pass up an opportunity to step out with my best guy,” Mags said, turning from where she stood by the washbasin to face him squarely. Her expression was easy, her smile bright, and any sort of hesitance or uncertainty replaced with an air of confidence.

“If you’re sure.” Bucky said, fighting back self-deprecating remarks about how the hell he’d managed to rank ‘best guy.’

“Absolutely.” She nodded.

“Can I have this dance, Mags?” He asked, extending the prosthesis to her.

“You may,” She replied, taking the prosthetic hand, and they moved into position, Bucky’s right hand at her waist, her left hand on his shoulder.

Then, as they were about to step, he hesitated, his mind spinning in a sudden icy panic. “My left, your right.” She cooed gently, her eyes looking up at him a knowing expression on her face as if she could read his mind and feel his sudden anxiety.

“We’ve been doing it backward for so long, I couldn’t quite recall,” He admitted sheepishly.

“Well, that’s all right. We’ll go slow.”

Bucky met her gaze, she looked so calm, and sure, but he could feel her palm sweating, her hand gripping the prosthesis stiffly. Could he feel her heart racing through her palm, or was that his own heart pounding in his throat? Why was this so difficult? This wasn’t supposed to be difficult. This was supposed to be fun.

_This is supposed to be fun. Let it be fun. _He could hear Mags’s voice from that first time they’d danced together. He’d been so nervous, and angry, and frustrated. Why? Perhaps for the same reason he was nervous, angry, and frustrated now. This was supposed to be easy. It had come naturally to him before, why was it so difficult now?

“Count us off.” She urged lightly.

“One…two…one…two…three…four. Rock…step…triple-” They got as far as stepping before they went the wrong direction, tripping over both their own feet and each others.

Mags laughed as they corrected themselves. “Okay, okay.” She cleared her throat, smoothing her expression. “Let's go again.”

He counted off again, and they moved jerkily around the yard and cooking fire, Mags mouthing the counts to herself, even as she tried to maintain eye contact.

_What are you doing, Barnes?_

This wasn’t right, none of it was right. Eventually, the song ended, and they stepped back from each other. Releasing her grip on the prosthesis, Mags quickly wiped her palms on her pant leg sheepishly. “Would you like to go again?”

“You’re not obligated to me.” It sounded bitter and tasted even worse as he said the words.

“No. Of course not.” She replied. “I do have a song request, though.”

“You do?”

“Mhhh, Hmmm.” Mags nodded. “If I may.” She motioned to her Kimoyo bracelet, and he nodded. Flicking through her music, she selected the song she was looking for, and the smooth, quiet melody of Benny Goodman’s ‘Body and Soul’ started to play. “It is one of my favorites. Come on. Dance with me,” She said, her voice no more than a hum as she extended both hands to him.

Hesitantly he took her hand, and they started to sway to the gentle melody. Her grip was still firm, her palm sweaty, but she wasn’t counting anymore. There was a softness to her features in the dying light of the evening. Midway through the song, she put her head on his chest, closing her eyes. At this, he tensed, but mags didn’t lift her head, didn’t make any sort of motion. Instead, she simply murmured. “I trust you, Bucky.”

_You do?_ He wanted to bite out, but he didn’t and instead focused on leading, trying to make sure he didn’t give her any reason to doubt her trust in him.

Bucky appreciated that the song was slow, but he also appreciated the tender, sweet memories attached to it. He could remember hearing it performed on the radio and just feeling the yearning and passion in the melody. He could remember the quiet moments stolen away from the world, teaching his youngest sister to dance, or just simply lying on the floor listening to the radio.

Now he was here with Mags. Things were different than they’d been when he’d first heard this song. His old self would hardly recognize the man he’d become.

However, before he could follow that rabbit down the dark labyrinthine hole it would have provided, the song came to its conclusion, breaking the spell.

“It’s been a long day, Bucky. Let’s go lay down.” She sighed her head still against his chest as they continued to sway in the silence.

He nodded, and switching off the speakers, Mags took his right hand and led him purposefully to the hut. Stripping down in silence, Bucky watched each of her movements as she worked the ties of her outfit. Was she shaking, or was that his imagination? Had he been imagining her sweaty palms, or had that been the too warm evening? He wanted to reach out, and hold her, touch her, caress her without fear, without shame, without worry. He’d seen the regret in her eyes the moment she’d flinched, and the way that she’d wiped the sweat from her palm on her pant leg. He’d seen her nervous smile and heard her anxious little laugh when they’d stepped more than once on each other’s toes in the process of dancing. It shouldn’t bother him, but it did, and he wasn’t sure what he could do to make it bother him less. Why did it bother him? That was nearly as troubling as the initial question.

It wasn’t supposed to be more difficult. The prosthesis was supposed to make things _easier._ The prosthesis was a tool, a tool to help him function, and yet everything today had felt more difficult because of it. “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?” Mags’s voice tugged at his brain, rooting him back in the hut.

She was standing there, in nothing but her underwear, watching him, her hair flowed freely, hiding her bare breasts. They went to bed like this every night they spent together. It wasn’t inherently sexual, though it did occasionally become that way. Generally, it was just too hot to wear clothes at night, and so they limited what they wore.

Tonight Bucky was struck at the vulnerability of the action. She trusted him not to hurt her, but also to see her, as she was, with nothing between them to distort or obscure the view. As he surveyed her, he was also struck by how beautiful she was, soft, warm lines and curves. She was shorter than him by about a foot, but she was muscular and toned, except her stomach, which soft and supple. She had an oval face, framed by her long wavy hair, and her dark eyes which watched him in the dim light.

What did she see when she looked at him? Did she see a scarred and broken man? Or did she see something else? 

“Yeah.” He answered with a short breath.

“Tomorrow will be better.” She said, going on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek before continuing to the bedroll.

Bucky followed, crouching down beside her as they unrolled and made the bed for the evening, shoulder to shoulder as they had so many times before. It was just like any other number of evenings they’d had together, and the task felt comforting in the way that routine had its sort of comfort.

Yet, when Mags sunk onto the blanket, Bucky hesitated as a wave of dizzying thoughts overwhelmed him as he stood over her.

_What if I hurt her? What if I have a nightmare and have a flashback? What if The Princess didn’t properly scale the strength of the arm? What if she didn’t get all of the programming out, and this triggers me?_

“Bucky?” Mag’s voice called, and he blinked, looking down, saw her brow was furrowed and that she was on her knees, getting ready to stand.

“It’s all right. I’m all right.” He stammered with a slight shake of his head, “Is this a good idea?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if I hurt you? When I was on the run, I’d break things with the arm when I was asleep. When I had flashbacks.” Bucky rushed.

Slowly, she stood up and took both hands in hers. He flinched, pulling away. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked if you wanted to be touched.” She said softly, taking a step back to give him space. “Your concerns are understandable and valid, and if you want me to leave, I can. It isn’t too late, and the walk isn’t all that far. ” She continued gently.

“It’s not that.” He shook his head. “I want you to stay. I’d like you to stay.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out what he wanted to say next—trying to figure out what he wanted. He wanted things to be normal, _he_ wanted to be normal, yet with or without the prosthesis, it would never be normal, _he_ could never be normal. If this were a normal circumstance, he would reach out to her and take her in his arms and hold her, and there would be nothing _abnormal_ about the entire situation.

Yet, he couldn’t be _normal. _He would never be normal, and while she was gentle and understanding, and kind, her sweating palms, her flinch, and her hesitance was still fresh and stinging like a newly opened wound.

Bucky couldn’t help but think of the film, “Best Years of Our lives.” One the list of 100 Greatest films it was about three GIs trying to adjust to life at home after the War, The “Good War,” his war, the war he and Steve had fought, and until recently had thought to have died for. He and Mags hadn’t reached it on the list, but he wouldn’t have wanted to watch it with her anyway. It hit too close to home and made him think about his situation. He’d wept through most it, thinking about how his life could have been, might have been.

Right now, he couldn’t help of think of Homer Parish, a double amputee from the elbow down, and his in movie reunion with his family and his girl, who were shocked at horrified at what had happened to him. Yet, more than that he couldn’t help but think of the line how the Navy had trained him to use his hooks, but “couldn’t train him to put his arms around his girl to stroke her hair.”

That was more than just movie sentimentality. Harold Russell, the actor who’d played Parish in the film, had been a double amputee from the war. That had been his life, his reality, and Bucky couldn’t help but draw comparisons to his own situation.

In the movie, Homer had been worried that his girl wouldn’t want to be saddled to…well…someone like him. Bucky had been somewhat worried that Steve, Mags, or even Nat might not have him with only one arm, but now, with the prosthesis, it wasn’t _just_ a prosthesis. There was baggage to that, too.

“What’s going on, Bucky? Talk to me.” There was a pleading note in her voice, and he opened his eyes to meet her concerned gaze, her hands extended, reaching out on the air, stopping just short of touching him.

He shook his head, looking down at his feet, licking his lips, knowing what he needed to say, but unsure if he could make himself speak. “What do you think?” he managed, his voice barely audible. Part of him hoped that she hadn’t heard him, that somehow he hadn’t spoken those words out loud. It was cowardice, but at least he felt a little less like a coward now that he’d said them.

Bucky couldn’t make eye contact with her, wouldn’t make eye contact, but he could feel her gaze searching him, grasping at what he meant, and at what to say. He flexed the prosthesis, his right hand clenched.

“Oh.” She said softly after a long, drawn-out moment.

Such a simple sound, but filled him with dread at what was going to come next. He’d asked, and now he was going to get the answer.

“It’s a bit strange, Bucky with two hands, but I would argue no stranger than it would be if I chopped off all my hair, or you shaved your beard.”

“But you don’t like it. It repulses you. _I_ repulse you.” His whole body tensed as he spoke, the words forming practically on their own.

“No.” She said, her voice firm. “That’s not true.”

“You flinched.” He said as if it was an entirely damning statement. He’d flinched only moments ago when she’d taken his hands—hand and prosthesis. Was he trying to find a reason to be upset? Was that why he was trying to find a reason to suspect that there might be some disgust or repulsion on her part? Would it make his frustration somehow justified? Like somehow, this was a reason for him to push her away so that she could save herself from the heartache and pain that would come later.

“I did.” She agreed, “I’m sorry.”

“And?” He pressed.

“And what?”

“You don’t like it.”

“I never said that. It’s an adjustment Bucky. One that I’m happy to make for you because your health and happiness are and well being are important to me.”

“But you don’t like it.” He pushed further.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Her words hung in the air a moment before she proceeded. “Do you want me to say that I hate it? Do you want me to be repulsed by it? It’s a tool Bucky.”

“It’s me. Mags. It’s part of me. It’s buried in my chest, just under the skin, and nothing you or I or anyone else can do will change that fact. It’s not fair, but it’s the truth.” He looked up at her, making eye contact with her for the first time since the conversation had started. His voice was cold, his tone short, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t draw away, or recoil; instead, she just nodded.

“I know it’s not fair, and that’s what I’m struggling with.” She answered slowly after a moment. “It’s not fair that you went through everything that you did with and for Hydra. It’s not fair that you’re fitting for a prosthesis so you can go back out there, when you deserve to rest, when you deserve peace. It’s not fair that you were robbed of a life with your family and with Steve. We could rage against the unfairness of your situation, my situation, and the overall wrongness of the world, but the fact is, I don’t hate the prosthesis. It’s a tool, an effective one. But I do hate everything that it represents, for you and me.” There were tears in her eyes and her voice as she spoke, but she didn’t look away. “You didn’t ask for any of this shit, and you’re just trying to make the best of it. You’re allowed your anger and your frustration and your hatred.”

“But?”

“No, but.” She shook her head, swallowing hard and blinking quickly. “Just know that I’m here with you, every step of the way.”

Silence fell over them, and Bucky could see that she was trembling with the force of effort it took to keep from crying. Again, he was overcome with the urge to draw her close to him and wrap her in his arms, but he didn’t, he wouldn’t, not like this.

“I’m sorry.” She managed, as she swiped at tears with shaking hands. “I should go.”

Bucky said nothing, and after another moment of silence, Mags turned away and started to remove her clothes from her bag so she could dress. He should say something, he knew he should say something, but nothing came to mind, no words of comfort or apology. Nothing that could ease the tension and the pain between them. It probably was better if she left, she didn’t need to be subject to this.

“Better living through technology.” He blurted out.

“What?” Mags turned to him, midway through pulling on her shirt.

“That’s what the prosthesis is supposed to be, isn’t it? A tool and aid. It’s supposed to make my life easier. Right?” Bucky shook his head, running his right hand through his hair. “Nothing about this has felt easy, has it?”

Mags shook her head no.

“I want it to be easier. I want it to make sense, but it doesn’t.” He exhaled, extending both hands out in front of him, he flexed the left hand experimentally. It was him, a part of him, but it still felt disembodied, foreign somehow. “When I wear it, I get the feeling that I’m not_ just_ me anymore.” He sighed. He felt stupid. This was stupid. It shouldn’t be like this. “I should feel grateful when I’ve got the arm on. It’s like I’m not disabled at all. With long sleeves and gloves, no one would be able to tell. I mean, it’s not exactly a hook, is it?”

“No. It’s not. But you don’t have to be grateful for your situation.” Mags answered. “You never asked for any of this shit to happen to you, and you’re trying to make the best of it. You don’t have to feel grateful just because the Princess has rolled out the latest and greatest for your use.”

“What else can I do?”

“You don’t have to be thankful that you have a slightly less shitty situation, just because you’re not being fitted for a hook.” She managed weakly. 

“So I’m just supposed to wallow?”

“I don’t know.” Mags shook her head. “This situation is completely fucked. All I know is you’re allowed a variety of responses to what’s happening, and you certainly don’t need my permission to feel what you’re feeling.”

“I don’t know what I’m feeling.” He admitted quietly, a lump in his throat. “Everything, I guess, everything and nothing.”

“I understand.” She said, “I’m here for you if you want to talk about it.”

They fell silent again, and for a moment, the hut felt like it was spinning, the warm air catching in his lungs. “I’m going to finish getting dressed and step outside. The coals should be hot still. I think I want to make some coffee if you’d like to join me.” Mags said, finally.

He watched as she dressed and then ducked out of the hut. Two thoughts immediately rose to the surface of his addled brain: I should go after her / I should wait until she decides to go home.

Yet, he couldn’t help but notice that she had left her satchel in the hut, along with her heavy boots, and instead was dressed in her lightweight romper and leather sandals.

She wasn’t planning on going home, and so he would have to face her one way or another. Shame welled in his chest, followed by anger, frustration, and a sort of helplessness that he couldn’t quite put a name to.

_You know you shouldn’t have snapped at her like that._ And to be fair, he really hadn’t meant to snap. It was just that everything had come to a head all at once and felt as though his head was going to explode.

Sitting and then standing, before sitting again, he tried to get his brain to latch onto something, _anything_ other than the perpetual string of ‘fuck, fucking, fucker, fucked, and fucks’ with some variation that was filling his internal monologue.

Then the warm bitter smell of coffee wafted into the hut, and Mag’s voice carried on the wind. She wasn’t singing but humming some sweet melody outside of his dwelling. It didn’t sound angry or upset, perhaps a touch sad, but nothing that would immediately put Bucky on high alert. Instead, he felt comforted by the normalcy: the coffee, the humming, Mags in his presence. _You need to apologize. You need to make it right before she leaves for the night._ It was the least he could do, after all, she’d come with him to his appointment when she could’ve bailed, he’d given her the opportunity to bail. Mags had also been super patient and understanding, too, even though something wasn’t quite right with her. She deserved an apology from him, or at least for him to recognize her generosity and kindness.

Standing back up, he walked from the hut and out into the yard where Mags sat on one of the logs around the fire, her back to him. Slowly, he approached, sinking beside her, they sat that way in silence a long moment as Bucky gathered his thoughts.

“I’m sorry that I snapped at you. That was uncalled for.” He murmured.

Mags nodded, taking a sip of her coffee before she spoke. “I’m sorry too.”

“What for?”

“Not knowing what to say. Not knowing how to help you with this.” Mags shook her head, rubbing her face. “I was a therapist for veterans for christ's sake. I feel like I should have a better grip on these things.”

“But you’re not my therapist. You’re my partner, and the fact that you’re here with me _is_ enough,” Bucky said.

“It didn’t feel like it today.” She replied.

Bucky grasped helplessly at what to say next. Mags didn’t feel like she was enough? That she hadn’t done enough? That she wasn’t good enough somehow? This was something that she had said that she needed to work on. Yet, he could barely wrap his mind around the idea that somehow she was inadequate. So what was there to say now that hadn’t been said before?

“Maybe not, but that’s okay. Besides, tomorrow will be better.” He countered, reaching down and kissing the top of her head.

“Tomorrow _will _be better.” Mags agreed. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Sure. I can get it myself. Would you like a top off?” Bucky answered, rising to his feet.

“Please.” She extended her cup, and he refilled her mug before filling his own.

Settling down beside her, he could see her watching him out of the corner of her eye. It hadn’t been the perfect response, but it had accomplished his ultimate goal, and for the moment, that was more than satisfactory.

“How does it feel?” She asked after a moment.

“The prosthesis or the situation?” He managed, not sure if humor was the best idea in the given circumstances.

“I mean, I’m mostly asking about the prosthesis outside of the lab.” Mags let out a watery laugh, “But, first one and then the other, I suppose.”

“Fair enough.” He agreed. Staring down into the coffee cup, took a long slow breath. He was trying to take stock of what he was feeling, emotionally, physically, the whole gamut. It was hard to put into words. He’d carried the other one around for over seventy years, and that had different sensations and data reception than the one he now wore. Heavy, clunky, rudimentary all came to mind when contemplating the Hydra prosthesis. But that had nothing to do with how it felt, or how this one felt. Taking a deep breath, he charged onward, “The Princess did a good job with the sensation. What I’m feeling, it feels like flesh and blood, or at least that’s how my brain is interpreting the signals. I dunno...part of me somehow knows that it isn’t…organic…not really.”

“Like eating imitation crab meat?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled shortly. “Tastes like crab smells like crab, looks like crab, but it isn’t.” He shook his head. “After years of hauling around the other one around this is different.” He paused, licking his lips. “I don’t know if I like it yet.” He admitted. “I don’t know if I’ll ever like it.”

Mags nodded, her grip tightening on her mug, but she didn’t say anything, letting the quiet of the night filter around them.

“It was nice to dance with you,” He said, omitting the word “properly,” though he felt it in every fiber of his being.

“It’s always nice to dance with you, Bucky.” She answered without skipping a beat. “You’re an excellent dance, and I’m lucky to have you as my partner.”

There was no qualifying statement, no additional clause or phrase, or words unsaid. Still, he felt the need to push. “Do you mean that, or are you just saying that to get me to stop with the pity party?”

“After all this shit, you are well within your rights to throw a bit of pity party. But believe it or not, I was and am telling the truth.” She said, taking another sip from her mug. “I just want you to be happy, healthy, and at peace with yourself. Whatever that means, and whatever form that takes.”

Could he possibly be all three at once? Was that possible? He had considerable doubt that he could achieve all three, but it was certainly a beautiful dream. One that he would share with her now in this place, while he still could.

“I would like that too, Mags,” He breathed.

He wanted that, more than anything, peace, health, and happiness. He wanted to feel like one person, at home with himself and his mind. Wanted that more than he could possibly say, and it seemed that Mags understood that too.

Wordlessly, she reached out with her left hand and grabbed his right. Her hand still had the slightest of tremors, and he could still feel the surgical scars, yet there was strength in her grasp, in a way he hadn’t noticed before, in a way that he’d never noticed before. Strength through her pain. He could feel in her grasp how hard she was trying to keep herself together and to help him work through this.

“I’m not sure I’m going to be able to sleep tonight, Bucky. My head is too full and too loud.” She continued after a moment.

“Yeah. Mine too.” He answered with a heavy sigh. “Would you stay up with me?”

“I’d be happy to.” Mags smiled, draining her coffee cup, leaned her head against his shoulder with a weary sigh of her own.

_I love you, Mags. _Bucky wanted to say but didn’t think it was the right moment. After what had just happened, how unsure he felt about everything, how crazy the world and their lives felt. He didn’t want to make this more complicated. So instead, they sat together, in the warm night air, and shared in the comfort of one another’s presence, watching the fire die down, and the moon come up.

As the purplish light filled the space, ushering in the full light of the dawning day, he glanced down at Mags, who had long fallen asleep against him, his right arm wrapped around her shoulders to keep her upright.

Things were difficult. The whole situation was difficult, it sucked, it really sucked, yet somehow here she was: persistent, and constant, and unwavering, even when neither of them could quite figure out what the other needed or even wanted. He couldn’t even enunciate what he needed or even what he was feeling at the moment, while she was working on her own ability to ask for help.

What a pair they made, but they were working on it. They were trying to make the best out of a confusing and horrible situation. Maybe that was enough. Maybe that was okay. Nothing was set in stone, and nothing made any sense, but they were working on it together. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was tangible, it was real, and for now, he’d take that for everything it was worth.

“Hmmm,” She moaned, shifting beneath his arm. “It’s morning already?” Mags rubbed at her eyes as she sat up.

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded.

“Did you get any sleep?” She asked, looking up at him bleary-eyed.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“I vote that we both call in sick and spend the rest of the day in bed.” She said, doing her best to smooth down her hair, which stuck out in all directions.

“I think that sounds like an excellent plan.” He murmured, leaning in to kiss the top of her head. At this, she chuckled, and he pulled back to see amusement dancing on her expression. “What?”

“I told you tomorrow would be better than today.” She answered playfully.

“So you did Mags, so you did.”

“Here’s looking at you, kid.” Mags chuckled.

“That still?” He asked dryly.

“Yes. That _still_.” She answered, kissing him as she rose unsteadily to her feet and walked to the hut. When she reached the threshold, she turned to look at him. Something passed over her expression, something soft, and dare he say it even loving. “You okay?”

“Probably not.” He shrugged as he stood. And although he regretted the way that it made her brow furrow in concern, he felt relief at his admission. “But I think I’d be a lot worse if I didn’t have you.”

“If we didn’t have each other.” She amended softly.

“Yeah.” He agreed.

“Yeah.” She echoed.

There was a pause, and the weight of words unsaid settled around them, filling his chest and threatening to crush his lungs. Before it could devour him completely, he leaned down and kissed her. When they parted after a moment, he smiled softly. “Now, let's try to get some sleep. After yesterday, I think we both deserved it.”

“Agreed.” She breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys, So sorry that it took forever to get this chapter up. Hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading along. I look forward to hearing what you think. For those of you who have never seen the Movie "Best Years of Our Lives" (the movie Bucky is referring to this chapter). It really is a phenomenal movie discussing the reality many GI's faced after coming home after WWII. I would definitely recommend it. It is very heavy but a good watch.
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you guys continue to stay safe out there. It's a crazy world at the moment. Be kind to yourself and to each other out there! And until next time, Happy Reading!


	24. All of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: Monster by The Almost; (I Love you) For Sentimental Reasons by Nat King Cole; All of Me by Willie Nelson  
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=L7esKUn3QsK7Ny0xwKh87Q

_It was dark, the emergency lights flickering cast a dim light down the cool, damp hallways, making it difficult for his eyes to adjust properly._

_Well, it was colder than just cool. While the air was stale, goosebumps still pricked on his skin, the lightweight Wakandan garb ill-equipped keep out the crushing Siberian cold. His breath condensed like steam in front of him, and he adjusted the scarf slung across his body to try to conserve as much warmth as possible as he continued along the long hallways._

_His leather sandals echoed against concrete floors, reverberating on the concrete walls. A sound like rustling feathers whispered somewhere just beyond his ability to make out the exact origin of the noise. His eyes swept the hallways, back and forth back and forth, intense and focused. The rustling became louder, and he turned, body coiled ready to fend off an attacker._

_The passage was empty, yet no relief came. He knew what he’d seen. _

_His feet continued their motion, leading him down the next hallway, lights flickering like the last, stretching down toward the center of the base. Heart pounding in his chest, he kept a vigilant watch, waiting for the figure he’d spotted in his periphery to appear again. _

_‘I know you’re there. You’re always there.’ He muttered under his breath._

_He strained his ears, listening hard for the sounds of heavy boots, but his opponent was clever and walked lightly, masking their footfalls in his louder tread._

_The rustling became louder. Only now, it sounded like voices, hundred of them, growing and swelling as he walked._

_‘Bucky!’ Mags’s voice pierced the silence as it screamed his name._

_‘Mags?’_

_‘Bucky?’ It was Steve’s voice that answered._

_‘Steve? Mags?’ His pace quickened, following the sound of their voices._

_‘Help! Help us!’ A third voice, the Princess Shuri, shouted._

_Bucky broke into a run, his feet leading the way as his mind spun, the voices growing louder, transforming into the siding screams and pleas of the Winter Soldier’s victims. _

_Reaching the central chamber the voices went silent, and he skidded to halt._

_Frozen in place, he took in everything as his horror mounted and grew, swelling in the pit of his stomach until he thought he might throw up. The large room was intact, everything in its place. The chair sat bolted to the floor in the center of the room, glinting in the dim light with an air of cruel menace. _

_Surrounding the chair were the six cryotubes. One was open, vacant, but the other five were dark, their control panels blinking, indicating they were occupied, their inhabitants secured inside, waiting for activation._

_The whispered swelled, rising to a near roar, but instead of pleas for mercy, there was a single unanimous cry, ‘save us!’_

_The internal lights inside the cryotubes flickered on, one by one, reaching the occupants within. Steve, Mags, Nat, Sam, Princess Shuri, all starring out at him with blank expressions. Yet he could hear their voices, calling out to him, muffled and warbled like they were shouting underwater. _

_‘Welcome back.’ It was his voice that echoed in the chamber. _

_Only he hadn’t spoken._

_Turning, Bucky saw him—saw the Winter Soldier standing there, feet away, glaring at him, prosthesis glinting in the dim flashing light, deadly intent in his posture._

_The soldier’s features were his own, but they were gaunt, distorted, without life or purpose outside of what he had been made to do. ‘We’ve been waiting for you.’ A cruel smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. ‘Did you think you’d escaped me entirely?’_

_Before Bucky could move cold, rough hands seized him, dragging him back toward the chair. Wrenching away, he fought them off, dodging and swiping as they tore at him, drawing blood as he fought against them. _

_He was stopped as the Winter Soldier caught him by the throat with the prosthesis. Bucky winced at the sound of machinery whirling as the metal fist tightened around his neck. ‘You can’t escape me. You can’t escape what you are, no matter what they might have said or done to convince you otherwise.’ The soldier’s gaze flickering momentarily to the still figures in the cryotubes, and Bucky’s gaze followed. ‘Don’t worry. They’ll figure that out too soon enough.’_

_Bucky wanted to scream, wanted to thrash, wanted to fight back, but instead could only claw helplessly at the metal fist wrapped around his throat. _

_He was forced down into the chair, restraints clicking into place, the Winter Soldier released his grip and backed away, allowing the faceless, nameless men in white coats to descend upon him. Then there was only the whirling of tools, a glint of cool metal, and pain._

_Finally, his vocal cords reacted to his internal cries and he screamed as the lifeless dead eyes bore into him, silent witnesses to his brutal transformation._

Bucky realized he was screaming, as the hut came into view his chest heaving. The next sensation was pain, pain shooting down his left side and where an arm should be, sucking his breath away, inhibiting his ability to scream. “Fuck.” He gasped as he tried to flex but knew no relief would come from a limb that wasn’t there. His right hand grasped at the nub, the vibration of the joint moving independently of any limb vibrated through the woolen cap.

“Bucky. Bucky, hey, hey, you’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” Mags’s voice called out, and he blinked bleary-eyed at her as her face swam into focus, her hands cupping his face.

“It hurts.” He choked out, unable to enunciate any more than that as tears started streaming down his face. “Fuck. It hurts.”

Her eyes searched him, then nodding with understanding, withdrew her hands and shuffled back to give him space. “I know it hurts.” She cooed. “What do you need? What can I do?” There was urgency in her tone, but it was soft and even, without even the tinge of fear.

His gut instinct was to put on the prosthesis. It might, he knew, give his brain something to latch onto, but the sensation of cold hands on him was too close, too real. He wasn’t sure if the prosthesis would create more problems than could be solved at the moment.

“Do I need to call the healer or The Princess?” Her voice suggested even as the world blurred in and out of focus, as tears fogged his vision, and slipped down his cheeks.

“No. No.” He shook his head, trying to swallow back the sound of a choked sob. “I can fight through it.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on his breathing, trying to think through the pain. _It’s not real. It’s just an illusion. It’s not real. _But his brain thought the pain was real, and so it was making the sensation real. This wasn’t the first time he’d woken up with phantom limb pain, and certainly wouldn’t be the last, but this was the worst it had been in a long, long time, and still, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed by his body, most particularly by his mind which was was the root cause of the sensation.

He knew Mags was watching him. He could hear her breathing, the slight movement as she adjusted on the mat beside him. “I’m here, Bucky. I’m here with you. You’re not alone.” She whispered over and over like a mantra, and he tried to focus in on her voice, trying to think about anything but the pain he was feeling, that his brain was making him feel.

“Hold me.” He whimpered his jaw grit, tears falling fast and freely. He felt pathetic, weak, as the words entered the world, and he almost pulled away as he felt Mags place her arms around his shoulders. Yet as soon as he did, he practically melted into her touch.

“I’m right here, Bucky. I’m right here.” She murmured, her fingers ran through his hair, brushing against his scalp, while she periodically planted soft kisses against his forehead and on the top of his head.

Silent tears streamed down his face, and his breath shuddered in his chest.

What time was it? And how much time had passed? He didn’t know, and couldn’t tell, the sky was still an inky black, and they were cloaked in mostly shadows.

It had been a little under a month since The Princess had sent him home from the Royal Labs with the prosthetic prototype. Since then, he hadn’t slept well. The voices of the dead that he’d thought he’d silenced were back, reminding him of who he really was, what he had done, and, most importantly, what he was capable of. The shadow of the Winter Soldier, of what he was, of who he was, looming large in his mind, invading the sanctuary that sleep was supposed to bring.

A debt was owed. One that he would not be able to refuse when payment came due. He shuddered at the thought of what that might mean, or what form that payment might take.

He was jerked back into the present as Mags removed one her arms from around his shoulders, and his eyes darted up to inspect her face. “You’re shaking,” Mags said, her expression, cast in the light of the moon that streamed through the window, was creased and furrowed in concern, though she was trying not to show it. When he made no other movement, she slowly leaned over and pulled their blanket around them, draping it over their shoulders, and shrouding them in a cocoon of warmth. “You’re safe. I’m here. You’re safe.” She planted another kiss on his forehead, returning her arm around his shoulder, and he slowly lowered his head to her chest, listening to the sound of her heartbeat thudding quickly in her chest.

_She must be terrified._ He hadn’t thought of that until this exact moment, and a renewed sense of shame filled his chest, choking him with a fresh crop of tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He stammered.

He hated this, the feeling of helplessness, of not being entirely in control of himself. He hated the implications and furthermore what he had done for seventy years when he hadn’t been in control of himself. He hadn’t been able to trust himself for over seventy years, seventy long years when the people around him in authority had manipulated and used him to nefarious ends. Now he didn’t even feel like he could trust his brain not to concoct horrible visions or untreatable ailments. How could she be so calm? So understanding? So trusting?

“I know. I know.” She soothed, stroking his hair with her hand. “But you’re okay. We’re safe. We’re all right.”

Bucky nodded, clinging to her as he grasped desperately at his frazzled and fried brain to attempt to string together what he needed to tell her. But before he could manage such a seemingly insurmountable feat, a wave of exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he succumbed to the feeling, and simply let her stroke his hair and soothe him like a small, frightened child.

He was exhausted, worn down, angry, and upset. Would he ever feel at peace? Would he find a way to earn rest? He didn’t know.

Bucky could still feel the shame and anger and frustration bubbling in his chest, but also how unfair the whole situation was for both of them, but specifically for Mags. She didn’t deserve any of this. She didn’t deserve to be woken up to him _screaming,_ and she certainly shouldn’t have to deal with his baggage in the early hours of the morning. Yet here she was. Here they both were.

He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. They stayed that way, wrapped in the blanket, and watched as the sun started to come up, filling the hut with the grey-ish hues of early dawn, trying to wait out the darkness that had enveloped them in the wake of his nightmare, struggling to remember that there would still be light in the morning.

“I’m going to get dressed and fix breakfast.” She announced eventually with a heavy sigh. Standing up, the blanket fell around them, and she kissed his head before starting their morning routine now so familiar to him. It was comforting, routine, but it also had another, newer, purpose.

After that first 48 hour period, when The Princess had asked he’d wear the prosthesis, Bucky had worn it only part-time, only during the day and only when it was a workday. However, this also meant taking it on and off regularly. An awkward and vulnerable transition he preferred to make alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mags; he just wasn’t sure he wanted her to see him like that. It reminded him too much of Hydra and the occasions that he’d had the arm removed or reattached. Although he hadn’t given her a full explanation, Mags respected his request and gave him the space to make the transition in private, which was why she was the one who now made the coffee in the morning, to allow him time alone for that.

He still hadn’t been able to enunciate what the prosthesis meant to him. He was trying but fell short of the mark, and with the dream lingering on his skin, it made things all the more difficult.

That and it was Rosh Hashanna leading up to Yom Kippur. He wasn’t a particularly observant Jewish man, but the holy day’s focus on seeking out forgiveness against those you’d sinned against and working to atone for your sins weighed heavily on his mind.

Redemption, forgiveness, repaying a debt. He could never be completely forgiven for his life as the Winter Soldier, never be forgiven by those he’d killed, the lives he’d destroyed. Yet, he reasoned, maybe if he returned to the life of a soldier, returned to being the Winter Soldier he could start to undo the work he’d done for Hydra, which was absolutely oxymoronic in the grand scheme of Jewish belief, particularly as it pertained to killing people, yet here he was, that was the thought process. Somehow he’d have to make right by going out and being a force for change, for global change, by destroying the evil that he’d brought into the world.

How easy would it be to go back to that life? Another question that weighed heavily on his mind. After all. He’d been the Winter Soldier far longer than he’d ever been Bucky Barnes. So who was he truly then? The Winter Soldier? James Barnes? Or was he something else? Something different now?

He’d contemplated that question long hours when he’d been on the run, and it was a question that had been held at bay for almost a year, since the arrival of Magdalene Ramirez. He might not be able to escape it much longer.

“Coffee’s done.” She called from the fire pit, dragging him out of his head, and back to needing to address the most immediate task at hand.

_At hand, haha._ He laughed bitterly at the horrible pun his mind had constructed. Attaching the arm, he quickly dressed to join her outside.

She was crouched next to the fire, stirring a pot of porridge with a spoon. In the light of dawn, he could see how exhausted she looked, her eyes heavily ringed with dark circles, her shoulder sagging with some great invisible weight.

“I’ll set the table and fix your coffee for you.” He volunteered quietly, pausing before he pulled the coffee from the fire, he added. “Thank you for helping me.” He added quickly, pouring her coffee and setting out the bowls and utensils for their breakfast.

Mags didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, Bucky was almost sure she hadn’t heard him. “I’m happy to help any way I can.” There wasn’t anything wrong, necessarily, with her response or even the tone of voice she used, but something was off, and Bucky watched her silently as she rose and portioned out the porridge, sprinkling fruit and chopped nuts over the top.

“It looks good.” He managed as they settled down across from each other.

“Thanks. Thought considering our wake up call, we needed something tasty and nutritious to start our day.” She answered without making eye contact with him.

Bucky nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to focus on his food, but the dream was near. He could still see their frozen expressions through the glass, an undead statue, frozen and unchanging. Eyes dead and unmoving. 

_What does it mean? _He couldn’t help but wonder. _Do dreams have to mean anything?_ Normally he wouldn’t think so, but this one had felt real, really real, tangibly real, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that haunted him. He could still feel the hands on him, forcing him down into the chair. He could see himself, the Winter Soldier, looming over him with cold, unfeeling eyes.

“How long have you been experiencing phantom limb pain? Was it since last June, or has it flared up since you started wearing a prosthesis again?” Mags inquired, her voice breaking the silence.

The question yanked him from his thoughts, grounding him back in the present. “It comes and goes. It’s gotten more intense since the prosthesis.” Bucky answered slowly, watching her expression carefully as he did. “I’ll be sure to let the Princess know, but you and I _both_ know that it has nothing to do with the prosthesis and just my brain being a bastard.” He added quickly as she opened her mouth to speak.

“I know.” She nodded, blowing thoughtfully on a spoonful of the porridge. “But you shouldn’t have to live in pain.”

“I’m not sure I remember what that’s like anymore.”

Mags winced but said nothing. After all, what was there to be said that would be productive? He likewise didn’t know what to say. Should he try to comfort her? No. That would be disingenuous at the very best, and she wouldn’t let him apologize anyway.

So they continued the rest of breakfast in silence.“I think I’m going to head off soon. I have a busy day and can’t be late.” Mags announced, breaking the silence. Rising and collecting her bowl, she paused only to kiss the top of his head. “You going to be all right without me?”

_Right, she’s still going to work. _It had been such a bizarre and horrible morning he hadn’t even thought about work or the fact that she was going to be leaving soon.

“Should be. Will I see you tonight for dinner?” He asked, looking up at her, mentally wincing at how pathetic he sounded.

_If you’re that freaked out, call your therapist, you don’t need to have Mags sit around and baby you. _Bucky mentally scolded himself.

“I have a counseling appointment until six, but I can come by after. Does that work?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome. That sounds like a plan.” She said, washing out her bowl, cup, and spoon she swooped back in and kissed him again. “You okay?” She asked, stopping mid-motion to survey him.

“A little hazy from this morning, but I’m alright.” He said as honestly as he could manage. “I’ll see you tonight.”

There was hesitance in her expression. _I can stay._ The words practically sprung fulled formed from the earnest crease between her brow. “Tell me what you need, Bucky.” Was what she vocalized.

“I don’t know,” Bucky admitted. “A bit of normalcy, I guess.”

Mags nodded.

“Which I guess means work, and being a somewhat functioning human person thing. Which is totally overrated, by the way.” This elicited a small chuckle from her, and he smiled weakly up at her. “Go. I’ll be all right.” He urged softly.

“And if you’re not, you’ll call me, right?”

“Right.”

“Pinky promise?” She extended her right pinky to him.

“Pinky promise.” He agreed, wrapping his pinky around hers.

“Good.” She said shortly. Her mouth stretched in a thin smile as she stole another quick kiss. “Now I really have to go. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll see you tonight.” He echoed.

Then, just like that, she was gone, leaving him alone to contend with his thoughts. 

Finishing breakfast, he cleaned, washed, then dressed. All the while, he could feel the weight of sleepless nights on his shoulders, his body coiled, wound tight like a spring.

If he had his way, he would crawl back into bed and try to catch up on his rest. Bucky knew that although he could if he wanted to, it wouldn’t help, and he didn’t want to face an empty bed when he knew what monsters awaited him on the other side of consciousness.

_Normalcy. _Right, normalcy is what he wanted and needed and should at least attempt to recreate. It was what was best for both of them at the moment. He needed space to think through what he was feeling, and Mags needed time and space to take care of herself. It had already been a difficult day, and he wasn’t going to ask her to choose between him and her own needs, particularly as it pertained to mental health.

He was still meeting multiple times a week with his therapist, and it was helping. Though, at the moment, he knew he was struggling. It had gotten worse since The Princess had sent him home with the prosthesis prototype. When he’d mentioned this to his therapist, she’d asked a simple question that he was still puzzling through.

_‘What does it mean to you to lose the same arm twice?’_

Bucky hadn’t had a response, hadn’t known what to say, and so she’d sent him home with the question, to work on coming up with some kind of answer.

His initial response had been, ‘does it need to mean anything?’

Well, no, not necessarily. There wasn’t some larger cosmic irony working here, no literary foreshadowing or symbolism happening. But Bucky knew that wasn’t really what his therapist was asking. She was asking what meaning did he _personally _ascribe to what had happened to him.

Easy enough, the fall, the initial amputation, and the prosthesis Hydra had given him. That was the beginning of his physical transformation into the Winter Soldier. But losing it again? That was a little more complicated.

Again, his initial gut instinct when he thought about it was, what does it matter? Who cares? It is what it is? Stark blasting the fucking thing off his shoulder didn’t mean a goddamn thing. It was just a piece of machinery, a piece of technology, nothing more, nothing less.

_It was a piece of Hydra that enabled you to do all you did for them. It was a piece of your identity as the Winter Soldier._

All right, he could buy that. It made sense. So what did it mean then? Was it losing the last physical vestige of his connection to Hydra?

He didn’t know, and it was frustrating. While one could argue it was the last connection to Hydra, it didn’t feel like that. He didn’t _feel_ as though he’d lost his connection to Hydra at all. They were still there, with him, in his brain, in his dreams, just under his skin with the metal plate they’d set in his chest. The programming might be gone, but everything else was right where they’d left it.

And he was scared_._

The dream was evidence of that. He was scared, and he felt weak and powerless against what was coming, an ever-looming indefinable boogie man that cast a long creeping shadow over everything he did. How could he protect his loved ones from …from what he was capable of…what the Winter Soldier was capable of. He’d been the Winter Soldier far longer than he’d ever been Bucky Barnes. For seventy years, Hydra had sunk their claws into him, and in that time they’d chipped away at him, eroding away pieces of him, replacing it with the Winter Soldier, turning him into whatever it was he was now.

But that wasn’t right either. He’d made choices, independent of Hydra or despite of them. That had to count for something, right? He certainly hoped so. That’s what Mags had said, years ago now, back in the barn on Last Chance ranch. Choice, choice was what defined you. Now that he had a choice, he needed to decide what type of person he wanted to be.

Packing his bag for the day, he led his little herd from the pen out to pasture.

He had a lot to contemplate, and he wanted to try to get his mind in order before dinner. Then maybe he could ask for forgiveness and offer some kind of explanation for what had happened this morning. It was the least he could do.

-

Maggie wanted nothing more than to call in sick and go back to sleep. Wanted to go back to bed with Bucky and propose a hard reset on the day.

That was what she wanted to do, more than anything. But she wouldn’t. Because she knew it wouldn’t do anything for her or Bucky’s mental health. In fact, she reasoned, it might even be counter productive.

So bad as she felt about leaving Bucky after a nightmare like that to go to work, she knew it was what she needed to take care of herself after this morning.

She didn’t blame him for his nightmare or waking her up. She’d had her fair share of nightmares and had woken him up in the process. Instead, her need to get away was mostly her attempting to take stock of what had happened and what she was feeling as a result to process and understand both her reaction to the situation and the wave of emotions that now followed.

Mostly, it had been really fucking scary, and she’d felt absolutely powerless throughout the whole thing. Powerless to take the pain away, powerless to make the nightmares go away, powerless to make this entire situation any better.

Perhaps powerless wasn’t the right word. She was a therapist or had been by trade what seemed a lifetime ago. She knew techniques and tricks for dealing with phantom limb pain, knew how to talk people down from anxiety attacks, or work through PTSD flashbacks. Yet, for some reason, she’d faltered this morning, providing little more than a shoulder to cry on, and soothing, albeit virtually meaningless, words of comfort. A balm entirely unsuited for the wound she was trying to help mend.

She’d hesitated, second-guessing herself, when in the past she’d always been so steadfast and sure of her actions.

Yet, that seemed to how things were going at the moment. Things had been _difficult_ since that first night after the Princess sent him home from the lab with the prosthesis. Emotions of all kinds had run high, she’d flinched, and tense words had been exchanged. The main thing, however, had been the flinch. Actions, after all, spoke louder than words, and oh boy, that one was a doozie.

At the time, she hadn’t understood why she’d flinched when he’d touched her with the prosthesis, but she had seen the look of hurt and near betrayal on his face. She’d done her best to minimize harm to the best of her ability. Yet the fact remained, She’d wounded him, but only in the weeks that followed had she realized how deep she’d cut.

They hadn’t talked about that even or what had happened since then. Aside from their brief exchange of words that evening, they hadn’t talked about the prosthesis at all. However, the action’s consequences manifested in different ways. He minimized how often he wore he prosthesis around her, he always attached and removed the prosthesis alone, and if he did wear it around her, he took special care not to touch her.

She didn’t know for a fact that this was actually a result of her flinching, but her mind had connected the flinch to the subsequent communication difficulties they were experiencing.

Was the flinch the root of the issue? Or had it somehow started before? Was it her response to the first fitting? Or her reaction when he’d told her about the first fitting? Perhaps this had all started New Years' Eve when they’d stood in front of the prosthesis case in the Wakandan Royal Science Museum. Maybe even before then at the falls when she hadn’t said anything about his scars when he took his shirt off. Or at their first meeting after she’d arrived in Wakanda when she’d seen him without the Winter Soldier prosthesis for the first time. Was this a result of what had happened in the outbuilding on Last Chance Ranch?

Maggie didn’t know. She’d been trying to let Bucky work through and assign meaning to what had happened to him…what WAS happening to him without dragging her baggage into the mix. The flinch, at least in her mind, had made her position known.

Or had it? It had been an automatic reaction that had manifested itself out of somewhere deep and hidden in the recesses of her brain. She didn’t even know what it meant. So she’d decided to proceed with caution while she tried to figure out her reaction so that she could properly apologize to Bucky.

So that’s what she and her therapist had been working on and through for the past few weeks. Trying to unpack the trauma and baggage that she had accumulated since 2014 when Bucky had staggered onto Last Chance Ranch, and Hydra had kicked down her door, changing her life forever.

It was difficult and thankless work. It was painful, like re-breaking improperly healed bones so that they could be reset and able to knit together correctly. But this situation with Bucky, at least as it pertained to their relationship wasn’t an old wound, not yet. She had an opportunity to work through all of this with him here and now so that this didn’t stunt their ability to grow emotionally both as a couple and as individuals.

Maggie was hesitant to bring up the flinch, knowing that the flinch was only the symptom for a larger conversation that they needed to have. She didn’t know how he’d react if she told him about her dreams where the Winter Soldier watched as she was tortured. Or worse, the dreams where she found him being tortured and was powerless to stop him. She wasn’t sure what he would think of her when she revealed everything she’d done both in services of tracking him down and staying alive. She could hardly believe it, and she’d lived with it. She certainly hadn’t coped with any of it. Instead, she’d compartmentalized and tucked it all away, and had allowed all of her pain and anger and frustration and fear to be personified by the looming shadow of the Winter Soldier, standing in the doorway, silently watching as she was tortured.

Honestly, she didn’t know how she’d react if her partner admitted that they’d had violent dreams about her mass-murdering alter ego. What was worse was the realization that she was going to have to admit that she’d somehow managed to compartmentalize the Winter Soldier as someone completely different from the man she knew and loved.

Yes, on an intellectual level, she knew they were the same person. Barn Matt, the Winter Soldier, James Barnes, and Bucky were _all _the same person, but here in Wakanda, she’d been allowed to forget his past, their past. They’d been allowed to pretend, at least for a bit, to be nothing more than the dorky one-armed goat herd and the sarcastic terminally clumsy farrier's assistant. That illusion, that dream, that perfect moment was coming to an end.

What a privileged and frankly bullshit way to think about the whole situation. Bucky had never been able to divest himself of what had happened to him as the Winter Soldier. They didn’t talk about the Winter Soldier, or what had happened to him, but as he’d said, it was part of him, literally buried in his chest, just below the skin. 

So, now, confronted with the realities of the situation, she had a decision to make. What was she going to do? That really was the million-dollar question. Was she going to cut her losses and run?

_I’m going to lose him. _That’s what her brain kept telling her. _I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but I know I’m going to lose him and there’s nothing I can do to stop that from happening._

She’d been doing her best to manage that anxiety, that feeling of helplessness, but Bucky’s nightmare and her own unresolved baggage with the Winter Soldier had brought all of that to the forefront.

Maggie didn’t know what she wanted to do in the long term. She knew in the short term she and Bucky needed to have difficult conversations that neither of them wanted to have. Mainly, she needed to apologize for what she’d done and find a way to explain what was going on in her head without centering the conversation around her feelings. It was a difficult and delicate and was likely going to be very messy. Yet, she knew it was a very important conversation, vital if they were going to get through this as a couple.

With that knowledge and all the unresolved questions swirling in her head, she limped through the day.

“You look exhausted, what’s going on?” Her therapist asked as Maggie finally made it to her therapy appointment.

Maggie blinked, trying to find a coherent way to respond. And that was all that it took to unravel the remainder of her already frayed nerves. The floodgates opened, and she started to cry. Big fat tears rolled down her cheeks as sobs ripped from her chest, yet just when she thought she was going to drown, the flood subsided, and she found she could breathe again.

“It sounded like you needed that.”

Maggie nodded.

“Okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

Maggie took a deep breath, trying to clear her head and find a way through the tangled mass of thoughts swirling within in. She’d been seeing a therapist for almost four months, and she still found it strange to be in the role of the patient rather than the therapist.

While she found it strange, there was a sort of relief to have someone else listen to her issues, and then being able to work them through with her, asking all the pointy, difficult questions that she needed to find answers to.

When she was finally ready, Maggie began to talk, and for the next hour, they worked through what she needed to do and say, and the best course of action forward.

Maggie needed to tell him the truth. The whole truth. It was going to be difficult, and by the time she left and started walking back toward Bucky’s hut, she wasn’t sure if she was going to have the strength to say all that needed to be said. The truth was important, and while it wasn’t guaranteed to make anything easier, it was important that she spoke it all the same to whatever end.

Pausing as she came to the top of the hill overlooking Bucky’s place, she took in the sight sprawled out before her. Smoke was rising from the cooking fire, and Bucky was stooped down next to a large stew pot, one hand holding the pot lid, while the other stirred the contents with a spoon. There was the sound of children laughing, somewhere off in the distance, the goats were penned in for the night, but were running and playing with each other. The sun had started its slow creep toward the horizon, and she knew that Twilight wasn’t too far off from the sound of the bugs and the whisper of golden wisps of grass in the breeze.

It was beautiful, picturesque even, and Maggie knew that if she didn’t bring up what had happened this morning or what she and her therapist had talked about, she’d be able to pretend everything was as perfect and beautiful as the scene before her.

Yet even Maggie could acknowledge that it would only be _pretending. _While it might have worked before and she might have had the energy to pretend, the events of the morning loomed large in her mind and knew that pretending would be _ignoring,_ and that would only lead to further, bigger, problems.

The truth. The whole truth. That’s what Bucky deserved. That’s what they both deserved and would be the only way that they’d be able to work through all of this mess.

With a heavy sigh, she adjusted the strap of her bag across her shoulder and started down the hill where Bucky was waiting for her.

-

The day had gotten off to a rocky start, but rather than succumbing to the desire to crawl back into bed he’d proceeded to work and had made the most of the time. After he’d put his goats out to pasture, joining the other herds for the day, he’d sat and journaled for a few hours. Then, when that hadn’t brought relief, he’d texted his therapist, which had led to nearly a two-hour video call as they talked through the dream, his feelings about the prosthesis, and then what he was going to work on talking about with Mags when she came over for dinner.

By the time the video call had ended, he’d felt relieved. He had a plan with clear and actionable items. Yet when he’d returned to his hut to start preparing dinner, a renewed sense of dread had started to bubble and brew in the pit of his stomach, his paranoia and anxiety-riddled brain playing nasty tricks with him. 

So he threw himself into making diner, taking extra care on how he chopped vegetables, and seared and cooked the meat, ensuring that the coals were on a low but sustainable heat for the stew to be able to absorb the flavor from the spices and herbs as it cooked while he waited for Mags.

Bucky wouldn’t consider himself a great cook or even a very good one, but he was curious, and he might even say adventurous with what he was willing to throw together and call a meal. He hadn’t had many opportunities to cook before or during the war, and absolutely none when he was with Hydra, but after he went on the run and now since he’d been in Wakanda had gotten a chance to experiment, and through trial and error, and Mags’s coaching and encouragement he was proud of the skills that he’d cultivated.

Blowing gently on a spoonful of broth, he paused a moment to savor the taste. There was something distinctly Mags in the composition of the flavor. He took another spoonful chuckling to himself.

“That’s a good sound.”

Bucky turned his head to see Mags walking toward him. He hadn’t heard her approach, but now that he saw her, something in his stomach twinged. There was a weariness to her walk, slow and plodding, every motion deliberate. Her eyes were pink and slightly puffy, a sure sign that she’d been crying.

“Hey.” He managed, rising to his feet and turning to face her squarely. “Everything okay?”

Mags stopped, “I look like hell, don’t I?” She chucked, but it was humorless and self-deprecating.

“You look…upset.”

“It’s been a difficult day. But anyway, how are you? How was your day?” She pivoted her voice bright but brittle.

“What can I do?” He said, unwilling to let her deflect entirely.

Mags paused, her expression creasing as if confused a moment before exhaling a heavy sigh. “I need a hug,” She said finally, a slight wobble in her voice.

“Well, come here, doll.”

She crossed the short distance between them and all but threw herself against him, her arms slung around his neck.

Immediately his right arm wrapped around her shoulders, drawing her closer, but he hesitated with his left, which he let hang by his side. He wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable or cross some boundary. He’d made it a habit not to touch her with the prosthesis after that first, horrible evening. He wouldn’t let his vigilance slip, not even this one, not even when she deserved nothing more than a full, big, hug. As if sensing his hesitance, Mags looked up at him. Her hands went to the base of his neck, his hesitance mirrored in her expression. She looked like she wanted to say something the words on the tip of her tongue.

“What is it?” He asked gently.

“It’s been a very long, difficult day, for both of us, I’d imagine. But there are some things I’d like to talk about with you, only I’m not sure how to start, and I don’t know what to say, and I want to make sure that I get it right because it’s important to me that I do.” She rushed, as if afraid if she didn’t get it all out now, she wouldn’t get it out at all.

Bucky’s stomach twisted, a knot forming in his chest, constricting his lungs. Was this bad news? He scanned her face, looking for anything that might tip him off as to the subject of what they needed to talk about. He found nothing but exhaustion and a bone-deep weariness. “When was the last time you had something to eat? Or drank some water?” He asked slowly, trying to make sure his voice was pleasant enough not to be accusatory, while still indicating that he wasn’t deflecting from what she was saying.

“Yeah.” She breathed after a long, excruciating pause. “You’re right. I’ll be in a better headspace to try to talk this through after I’ve eaten and hydrated.” She nodded, blinking heavily.

“Sounds like a plan,” He kissed her forehead, dropping his right hand to his side. “Wash up, and I can get you something to eat and drink.”

“Okay.”

They moved around one another in a dream-like state, Bucky trying to keep an eye on Mags as she set her back down and washed up, while also trying to pay attention to what he was doing. Silently they sat down to dinner and dug in with gusto, neither of them talking as they consumed the stew he’d prepared for them.

“This is really good, Bucky,” Mags said, breaking the silence as she rose, collecting her bowl to get another serving.

“I’m glad you like it. Figured I should make something hearty for dinner after the day we both had.” He answered as she returned to her seat across from him.

“Did your day get any better after I left, or more of the same?” She asked, returning to her seat she picked up her spoon. Slowly she stirred the steaming bowl, blowing gently, her breath disturbing the surface with little ripples.

This gave Bucky a little time to formulate a response, “It wasn’t worse, but I don’t think better would be an accurate description.” He paused, chewing a moment on the inside of his cheek. “Productive. Did some journaling while I was watching the goats, after lunch, I called my therapist, and we had a good discussion. Came home and made dinner, now I’m here.”

“That’s good. And the fruits of your labor are greatly appreciated.” She said, before taking another spoonful of stew. “Glad your call with your therapist was likewise fruitful.

“Yeah, me too. We talked through some treatment options for phantom limb pain, so when I have another bad episode I’ll have options.” Bucky continued.

“I’m glad for that!” Her voice genuinely brightened. “I failed to ask if you knew about mirroring and didn’t think it would be appropriate to introduce it in the middle of everything this morning. I’m glad you spoke to your therapist. You shouldn’t have to live in pain like that.”

“I’m grateful you were there with me this morning. It’s not fun to wake up alone from nightmares like that.” He said, watching her expression, her eyes cast down on the bowl in front of her, her hand paused in its movement between bowl and mouth, though still firmly grasped around the spoon.

“Was it Hydra?” Her voice was so small when she asked it Bucky’s brain didn’t register the question a moment.

“Yeah.” He answered, barely able to say the word for the lump in his throat. “Not a flashback, not exactly, but a sort of mixture of reality and imagination.” Bucky paused, “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve had nightmares like that too. Not an exact memory but a mixture of inputs.”

“You have Hydra related dreams?”

“Sometimes.” She admitted.

_How long? _He wanted to ask, but that really wasn’t any of his business.

“I had flying dreams after Riley died. Burning dreams after the ranch. And Hydra dreams after your sister died. I still get them. More frequently, since we became a thing.” Mags continued.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quickly.

“It’s not your fault. I have a fair bit of baggage I’ve accumulated over the years that I haven’t properly processed. It’s manifested itself in a number of ways.”

He nodded, thinking through what she’d just said. “In your dreams. Does the winter soldier—do I hurt you?” His voice shook as he asked the question, and he felt silly even asking, but it needed to be said. It would explain a lot.

“No. No. You never hurt me.” She paused, her eyes searching him, a look of understanding dawned on her expression. “That’s not why I flinched.”

“Oh.” Had it been that obvious? Sure it was. What else could he possibly be referring to? What other major event or upset had occurred between them? She’d probably picked up that he’d been careful around her since then. So. The other question was then, why hadn’t she brought it up if she knew?

“I’m sorry for flinching.” Mags continued, “And I’m sorry for not apologizing sooner.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I know you didn’t mean to.” It was a coward’s response, and he felt like a coward, but it seemed the best way to de-escalate the situation. After all, he didn’t entirely _blame_ her for flinching, even if it had hurt his feelings.

“Doesn’t mean I still didn’t hurt you, probably deeper than I can understand, and I owe you an apology if not an explanation.” There was a pause, and she closed her eyes, drawing in a breath of air before opening them again, meeting his gaze and charging forward. “I’ve been trying to figure out why I flinched. As it turns out, I have a bit of medical PTSD and secondary PTSD, both related to what happened to me as a result of Hydra, but also because of all of the graphic information that I ingested about what Hydra did to you. I apparently have an aversion to being touched by people with latex gloves, which is what the prosthesis membrane feels like. It took me by surprise, and that’s why I flinched. It’s stupid. I know, and I’m sorry,” She said in a single breath.

“It’s not stupid. I understand. It’s one of the reasons I don’t like people touching me or around me when I’m attaching or removing the prosthesis. They’d remove it as punishment, and it hurt. It’s hard to shake the sensation of cold, gloved hands on my skin.” He said, barely suppressing a shudder. “I’m sorry you’re dealing with that too.”

“It really is my own fault. I didn’t take care of myself or address my emotional or psychological needs when I was tracking you down.”

Bucky nodded. He’d wondered when he first read the journals she’d written during her search for him what learning and ingesting all of that information did to a person. Now he knew. She’d had nightmares about him, the Winter Soldier, and she’d never told him. She’d been struggling with this alone and never asked for his help or confided in him what she was going through. Was it that she didn’t trust him? Was she worried he’d be revolted or turned off by her struggle with all of the information she’d learned?

It left a sour taste in the back of his mouth. “You could’ve told me. We could’ve talked about it.” He said, his voice small as he stared down into his stew, stirring the remaining broth and particulates that had settled to the bottom of the bowl.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t.” She answered, her voice was also small, timid even.

“Were you worried about what I’d think? Or that you’d upset me?” Bucky asked, glancing up at her

“No. No, it wasn’t that.” Mags shook her head, setting her spoon back down she rubbed her face. “You never asked me to learn all that stuff about you. Never gave me permission to dig into your background and invade your privacy like that. I chose to disregard every warning from Nat and Sam and even my own common sense. After everything you’ve dealt with, I wanted to give you the dignity of choosing when to talk about that stuff with anyone, even me. I was trying to let you have space, privacy, and respect to work through everything that had happened to you, and I didn’t want to make your experiences and personal trauma about me, especially since my trauma was self-inflicted.”

That was true. It was what she’d said in her letter, more or less—giving him the dignity of choice. Yet, it seemed a little different now they were dating, that they were an item, a couple, involved, stepping out together any possible idiom you could imagine. He quietly reeled through their experiences over the past six months, and everything that she had or hadn’t said clicked into place and made sense through the new framework she was laying out before him. “So, is that why you’ve been so quiet about the prosthesis?”

“Yeah.” She admitted.

_You could’ve just told me. _The words were on the tip of his tongue but knew that it wouldn’t have the desired effect. She’d been trying to give him space to work through what he was feeling, and she was right, knowing that _she_ was suffering from trauma in part because of him, made things difficult, messy even. However, there was also the feeling of not being _quite_ so alone in his struggle. She wasn’t indifferent or completely unaffected but, in fact, the opposite.

“Thank you.”

Her head shot up, her brow wrinkled in a deep furrow as she searched for clues on his face. “For?” She ventured uncertainly.

“Telling me what you’re going through.”

“I just didn’t want you to think that it was something you’d done. It’s me.”

“It’s not you. It’s me?” He raised an eyebrow, hoping that his tone was playful enough for her to understand that he was teasing.

Mags cracked a small, reserved smile and nodded, “Yes, I supposed that old line would apply to our situation.” Her expression drew grave again, and she picked up her spoon, prodding at the bobbing chunks of meat and vegetable.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” He asked. He faltered, momentarily surprised at himself for being so blunt and direct. But she had just spent the last few minutes explaining that she had trauma and that she was trying not to_ bother_ him, which hardly seemed fair. Sure, her logic was sound about giving him space to work through his shit made sense, but if she was struggling with something, particularly if it related to him, he could attempt to help clarify whatever it was for her. He wanted to know, needed to know.

There was a long pause as Mags set her spoon down, putting both hands on the table, her head down, chewing on the corner of her lip so vigorously Bucky was sure she was going to draw blood. “I think—I think I’ve compartmentalized you and the Winter Soldier as two separate entities, and I’m not sure I know how to reconcile that.” She exhaled a shaking breath. “And I guess the prosthesis creates a paradox in the ways that I think about you. Which is shitty, and I’ve been trying to find a way to work through that, but as you said, it’s part of you, and it would be wrong for me to continue to think of you and the Winter Soldier as two separate entities.”

Bucky sat still a moment as he tried to process what he was feeling. It hurt to hear, but at the same time, he knew it was completely logical. It was the same fight he was going through, to some degree, trying to understand and reconcile the experiences of pre-Winter Soldier, Winter Soldier, and post-Winter Soldier Bucky. He could understand why she was having this problem. How could one person possibly be all of these things? How could he expect her to see both the man and the monster and still want him around?

“You know my therapist asked me what it meant to me to lose the same arm twice.” Bucky began haltingly. “I didn’t have an answer, still don’t have an answer.” He glanced up at her, “I don’t blame you. I understand because I don’t even want to admit that I’m _still_ the Winter Soldier, despite my best efforts.” Her expression was blank as he spoke. Was it a mask? What was she concealing under that placid expression? “You know what I did to myself,” His right hand when to his shirt, his fingers finding the seam of metal and flesh, and the score marks he’d dug in his skin. “And even after everything I’ve been through, breaking programming, escaping Hydra, losing the arm, coming to Wakanda, getting the programming out, I’m still him, still the Winter Soldier. He’s still a part of me, and no matter how much I dig, and claw, and rip and pry, I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of him.” Bucky shook his head, dropping his right hand into his lap. “So I’m doing my best to figure out a way to find a new sense of purpose, and reforge the Winter Soldier as something other than an agent of destruction and pain and death.” He paused, gathering the strength to say what needed to be said. “After everything that’s happened to you because of me, all the pain, and trauma, and hurt you’ve dealt with, I understand if you can’t or don’t want to reconcile the two parts to me. I understand if it’s too much to bear. I understand if you have to walk away to protect yourself.”

There was a long, practically interminable silence that drew in around them so close that Bucky was sure he might be crushed under it as he waited for Mags to speak. “Well?” He asked when the silence became so loud it started buzzing ears, leveling his gaze on her.

She was watching him with those dark eyes, now glassy with tears, ringed with all of the signs of exhaustion. “Bucky, I love you. I’m just angry and upset with myself for bisecting you like that, because it denies a part of your experience that makes you who you are.” Her voice shook as she spoke. “I’d be a liar to say that I wasn’t scared, scared of losing you, scared of being unable to protect you, as much as I ever could _save_ you, scared of what you getting that call to go back out there might mean. But I love you, and so facing these fears, facing this uncertainty is just something I’m going to have to accept and work on. It’s something I want to work on, for you, for _us._” Swiping away tears that had started to fall, she bowed her head, obscuring her face from his view.

Bucky sat there, stunned, his brain trying to recover from the mental whiplash he’d just experienced. “You love me?” He stammered, his voice shaking so much he could barely make out the words.

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way, and if you want me to walk away, need me to walk away, then I can, and I understand why you’d want that.”

“I just didn’t think— I mean, I hoped—I never thought that you would—That you wanted—That you thought of me.” He felt as if his brain was short-circuiting, the words were right there. He just couldn’t string them together. 

As he spoke, Mags lifted her head to survey him, and to her credit, sat there patiently, concern still etched in her features as she watched him struggle. Then, she extended her hands across the table to him, and slowly he placed both hands in her open palms. “I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. I love you,” She whispered, her thumbs running circles over his hands, maintaining eye contact with him, “but you don’t have to say it back if you don’t want to, or if you can’t.”

She thought he didn’t feel the same way about her. The very thought made his brain panic even more a knot constricting in his chest so tightly he thought he might suffocate. Then, just as he thought he might explode, the words came rushing forth. “I love you, Magdalen. I love you so much, and I’m sorry for not saying so sooner, for being too afraid too unsure too selfish to say so before now.” He blurted out, in one unbroken stream of word vomit.

Tears started to stream faster down her face, and Bucky gently pulled his hands away to wipe them away. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I love you. I love you, and I want to figure this whole thing out. I want to figure it out with you. I love you.” He soothed as he wiped at the tears with his thumbs even tears slipped down his cheeks.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” Mags chuckled with a sniffle. “Come here. Let me hold you.”

Bucky pulled his hands away, allowing her to rise and round the table. Also rising, he turned his body as she squared with him. Taking both his hands, she silently led him to the log by the fire, motioning for him to sit before she climbed up in his lap and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. One hand cradling the base of his skull, the other rubbed his back between his shoulder blades. Then as if some dam inside of him had suddenly broken, he started to cry. Burying his face in her neck, he wrapped his arms around her, his whole body shaking as he sobbed against her, not entirely sure why he was crying, but knowing that the emotional release was necessary. Mags held him tight, her shoulders heaving with the strength of the sobs that escaped her chest. For long minutes they sobbed, and then as quickly as the storm had come, it departed, and they withdrew from each other, surveying the wreckage left in its wake.

“I love you, Bucky,” She breathed, her voice still wobbly.

“I love you, Mags.” He answered, his voice hoarse.

Slowly, Mags leaned in and kissed him softly before drawing back, her eyes scanning him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

“As much as possible after the emotional rollercoaster we both just endured today,” Mags answered, leaning back in she closed her eyes as she pressed her forehead against his, stroking his hair with both hands.

“I’m sorry about that.” He apologized, also closing his eyes, just to savor the closeness of her, basking in the warm glow of her—a light, a warmth, a glow that she was sharing with him.

“No one’s fault, but maybe it’s what we needed.”

“Maybe,” Bucky said, slowly opening his eyes, cupped her face with both hands, stroking her face with his thumbs. “Will you stay the night?”

“I can. If you want me too.”

“I do. I’d like to end the day better than it started.”

“That’s fair.” She chuckled, leaning in and kissing his forehead. “I know there are a couple more things to take care of out here if you want to go get ready for bed.” She kissed him quickly and started to rise to her feet, but Bucky placed his right hand on her shoulder, staying the motion.

“I know that’s been our routine, but I’d like your help with it. It’s a little awkward to manage with one hand. If you’re willing.” Bucky said, his voice small and soft. He paused, licking his lip, “Please.”

“Absolutely. After dishes.” She answered firmly. “But only if you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Okay.” Mag nodded, kissing him again, they disentangled themselves, and both rose to their feet.

They moved silently, a nervous sort of energy growing in the quiet as they worked to clean up from dinner. Finally, by wordless consensus, they moved into the hut, Bucky leading the way and turning on the lights in the small space to provide them adequate light as Mags entered behind him.

He wasn’t sure why he’d asked her to help him. He could manage perfectly fine without her for the past few weeks. But it felt important now. Trying to prove to himself, and perhaps even prove to her that he could let her see him at his most vulnerable. Allow her a chance to help him in a way that he’d never _wanted_ someone to help him before this.

Sinking on their bed mat, he motioned for her to sit down beside him. Watching her kneel beside him, he couldn’t help but notice how she was wringing her hands together. “You don’t have to help me if you don’t want to.” He said slowly.

“I want to.” She replied. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

“All I’ll need for you to do is to support the elbow and forearm. I’ll disable the locking mechanism and remove it from the socket.” He explained as he removed his scarf, and started unbuttoning his shirt. “It’s all pretty easy. The Princess made sure that I could do this on my own, but I appreciate your help.”

“Not a problem.” She smiled. Whether it was for her comfort or his, he appreciated the simple kindness of the gesture.

He returned the smile and continued to undress. When he was naked from the waist up, he turned to her. “All right, go ahead and take hold of the prosthesis.”

She nodded, placing her hands on the elbow and forearm of the prosthesis, her grip was firm, but not uncomfortable, as if recognizing innately that he could still feel everything she was doing, and being careful enough not to hurt him. Then there was a pause as they made eye contact. “It doesn’t hurt you when you remove it, does it?”

“No. It’s a cross between your hand falling asleep and a static shock. It’s a little off-putting, but it doesn’t hurt me.” He answered.

“You don’t have to take it off on my account if it’s uncomfortable to keep removing and attaching it.”

“I’d rather have it off when I’m around the house,” He answered simply. “And I’m grateful that it’s so easy to remove. If I don’t need it, I’d rather not wear it.”

“All right.” 

“Okay. So It’s going to be dead weight, here in 3, 2, 1.” He winced as the sensation of numbness hummed through his spine and he exhaled a sharp breath, but it was detached, and limp in Mags’s grasp.

“Give here, doll.” He extended his hand to her, and she wordlessly handed it over. “Not so bad, huh?” He asked wryly, going to the wooden crate where he stored the arm. Toeing it open, he placed the prosthesis gently inside, and removed the woolen cap and placed it over the raw joint. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to her.

“Not at all.” She answered.

“Well, we won’t have to worry about that for a bit after next week.” He said.

“What? Why?”

“Going for my head scan next week, and The Princess wants the arm back, she has some modifications she wants to make.” He explained.

“Oh. Yeah. That is right. She said she’d take it back after a month to run diagnostics.”

“So long as she doesn’t need anything else in the way of tests, I don’t think I’ll ask for another one for everyday wear. I feel more myself when I’m _not_ hauling that thing around.” He admitted, sinking back down next to her.

“Whatever you want to do, I’m here for you and support your decision.” She said bravely.

Mags would say that regardless of how she felt, but it hit different tonight. Tonight he could hear the exhaustion in her voice, the fear, and uncertainty, but he could also hear the love in such a statement. I am scared, but I chose to help you, anyway. I am scared, but I love you, anyway. Love. She loved him.

Bucky nodded but said nothing. Instead, he watched as she started to untie her hair and free it from its braid. “Would you like to help me brush out my hair?” Mags asked as she caught his lingering gaze, a wry smile twisting playfully at the corner of her mouth.

“I would like that.” He agreed, adjusting his position to where he was sitting behind her. His hand worked her hair from the braid and sectioning it in half, draped one half over her shoulder before mags extended a comb to him which he took. Slowly he worked the long length of hair, while she worked the other, neither of them talking, completely focused on their task.

He’d never done this before, but he’d watched her complete this task frequently, and as he worked, found that this was something pleasant and gentle. Something that had nothing to do with what he was or what he might be, but instead something that he could _do_ in service for the woman he loved --- a type of intimacy through service.

“Done.” He murmured, draping his section of hair over her right shoulder and kissing her neck.

“Thank you.” She chuckled softly. “Can I do your hair?”

“Sure.” Bucky agreed, and they both turned around to face the opposite direction, and Bucky had to fight a smile as he felt mags go up on her knees, adjusting her position to best attack his hair.

“You have beautiful hair, James Barnes.” She commented as she worked the comb through the length of his hair. “Thank you for letting me play with it and comb it out.”

“Thank you. It needs a good brush through.”

There was a pause before she continued. “Thank you for allowing me to help with your prosthesis this evening. I know it wasn’t easy. Thank you for trusting me.” 

“I do trust you.” He said, glancing over his shoulder at her, catching her watchful eyes. “Thank you for trusting me and for giving me space to try to figure out who I am.” He paused, reaching over his left shoulder, put his hand on hers, staying its motion, and letting both their hands rest on the metal shoulder plate. “I hope to be a man worthy of you and your love.”

“You are.” She answered, leaning in and kissing the crown of his head.

Bucky sighed, lowering his hand. _How can you be so sure of that?_ He wanted to ask, but he didn’t, instead, content to bask in her glow even if just for the moment.

Mags finished brushing out his hair in silence, planting gentle kisses at the crown of his head before they both rose and finished getting ready for bed.

The events of the day still hung heavy around them. The uncertainty, fear, and the pain that they both experienced so acutely still clinging to their skin. It had been a long, exhausting day, and he was going to have one hell of a therapy session tomorrow, but Bucky could honestly say that his conversation with Mags had been productive.

There was a lot to unpack from what they’d both said, but now he had answers. More answers and information than he could possibly absorb or understand at present, but she had been open and honest with him, and he’d done the same.

_She loves me_.

The thought made his stomach flutter.

_And she wants to work through all of this shit._

That was perhaps the most important, most singularly vital part of their entire conversation. She’d admitted that she was scared and uncertain, but she’d also said that she wanted to work through this, wanted to figure it out. Not despite her love, but because of her love for him.

Bucky had been ready to let her walk away, ready to let her go, give her up, figure out how to continue alone, because he felt she deserved better, deserved someone who could love her better, and be better for her than he was. It had been a gut-wrenching moment, voicing that that thought, that she could walk away, that he was okay with her walking away. Not because he didn’t love her, but because he did.

Now, after all of that, he felt giddy and terrified in equal parts, both a feeling of absolute exhilaration and absolute mortification. He loved her, and she loved him. Yet this revelation solved nothing. Things might have been simpler now that they both knew how the other felt if they were simple people, but nothing about them was simple, or easy, or straightforward. They were complicated and difficult, and their relationship, thus far, had been fraught with shit no two people should have to deal with. How they would proceed forward in the morning, Bucky didn’t know. Bucky did know that what had happened today hadn’t fixed anything. Instead, it both revealed what needed to be addressed about their pasts and illuminated possibilities for their future.

These thoughts and more whirled and raced in his head as they lay together, side by side in the dark.

“Hey, Mags?” He called softly his voice barely audible over the sounds of the night outside.

“Hmm?” she answered groggily, sleep heavy in her voice.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Bucky Barnes,” Mags replied, rolling over and placing her hand on his heart, her fingers just barely brushing the seam of metal and flesh. “All of you,” She added.

Nothing more was said, no addendum, no exceptions, and soon enough, her breathing evened out, and she drifted to sleep her arm still extended protectively across him.

_I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I think we’re going to be okay._ He decided finally before surrendering to sleep in the comforting embrace of the woman he loved and who apparently loved him too---all of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed, I look forward to hearing what you think! dear heavens above they actually said I love you! (Can I let you in on a secret? I that up a few chapters. It wasn't going to happen until like Ch27/28). This chapter was a real doozie to write I hope that the end product was worth it. We're getting into the last chapters of this part of the fic (if you can call six chapters the "last"), but we still have a lot of ground to cover, and some really fun/exciting things in store. I can't wait to share them with you!
> 
> I hope everyone is doing well out there, stay safe, stay healthy, and remember Black Lives Matter.


	25. Visions of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: Tonight, Tonight by Smashing Pumpkins; Ghosts We Knew By Mumford & Sons; Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=UDyk25qZSlyM-kYrT0QK9w

Maggie awoke to the gentle sound of a pen scratching on paper. Slowly she opened her eyes to just slits to find Bucky sitting beside her, legs crossed, journal open across his lap. His expression was focused, unaware of her watchful presence.

It was early still, and the sky was grey in the morning light. Meaning he was up and awake and journaling because he’d had a nightmare.

That was one of the many things that had come out of their conversation, now nearly a month ago. They were both journaling more, trying to find ways to enunciate what they were feeling. Plus, being able to write it down before it came out of their mouths created a more relaxed and open dialogue rather than them stammering through what they were trying to get across. Maggie had started journaling regularly, rather than as a last-ditch attempt to keep her head from exploding, while Bucky had started a dream journal in addition to his regular journal, to process what he was feeling in the immediate aftermath and provide a record for his therapist.

“You ready for coffee? I can go get the fire restarted.” He asked softly without looking over at her.

“How do you know I’m awake?”

“I’m a super soldier, doll.” He answered, snapping the journal shut, and stowing the pen he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “You’re also not any good at pretending to be asleep.” He chuckled, his voice a low hum.

“Well, good morning to you too.” She drawled, tilted her head up expectantly.

“Good morning,” Bucky said, before obliging her with a quick kiss.

“You’re up early. Everything all right?” Maggie asked as she sat up, holding the quilt to her.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Nightmare?”

“No. Actually.” Bucky shook his head as he put away his writing supplies, and started moving around the hut to dress.

Maggie watched. She enjoyed the simple pleasure of their morning routine. As planned, Bucky had gone to his monthly brain scan, returned the prototype prosthesis, and had declined another prosthesis while the Princess continued her research and design. He didn’t seem to miss it much, or hadn’t mentioned it if he did. His posture was different, and she couldn’t help but notice, he seemed more relaxed and less unsure of himself. It was a selfish thought, but she enjoyed having her Bucky back for a bit.

Today, however, something was on his mind as he moved she could tell his motions were independent of what was going on in his head. “What are you thinking about?”

“Thinking about what I was doing a year ago.” He replied as he sifted through his scarves. Selecting one and slipping it over his head he turned to face her. “A year ago today, Steve and I went to King T’Challa to help track you down.”

“Oh.” She lay back flat on the mat. “It has been a year since then, hasn’t it? Holy shit.” Her hands went to her stomach, searching for a scar she didn’t have from a wound that was nothing more than a faded memory--A strange sensation. She hadn’t given it much thought since she’d arrived in Wakanda, yet now that she was thinking about it could swear she felt internal scar tissue, her spirit remembering even if her body bore no mark.

“I’m sorry.” He paused, kneeling beside her. “It felt important to mention.”

“I just haven’t been keeping track.” She answered, looking up at him, and the concern etched on his features in heavy lines. Maggie smiled softly, trying to ease his worry, “it feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It does,” He agreed.

Then whatever Maggie was going to say next completely evaporated at a singular realization. “Tomorrow is Dia de Muertos.” She blurted out.

“October 31st, yeah.” Bucky nodded.

“It’s already late October. Shit. I really have lost track of time,” She put both hands on her face as the full power of all of that sunk in. One year since Juarez, over a year and a half since she’d seen Sam, two years since Becca’s passing, three and a half years since she’d lost her house and life thanks to Hydra, and just over five and half years since Riley’s passing. Yet, over the past year, she hadn’t given thought to any of those anniversaries the way she had years prior.

Was this healing? Was this moving on? Maggie couldn’t say, but it felt strange. Was this “New” Maggie? She didn’t know, and she didn’t know how to feel about this revelation. “Would you like to celebrate Dia De Muertos with me tomorrow?” She asked meekly.

“If you want me to celebrate with you, I’d be honored,” He replied. 

“Very much. Otherwise, it would just be me sitting around being sad thinking about dead people.” She answered, sitting back up, angling her head for another kiss.

“Ah. So we’ll sit around and be sad thinking about dead people together then, huh?” He replied in kind, before once again answering her request for a kiss.

“More or less.”

“Sounds like a good time all around. What should I bring?”

“Hmmm.” Maggie contemplated rising and allowing the blanket to fall around her feet. “Give me a bit to think. This requires a bit more brainpower than I’m able to conjure at the moment.”

“Coffee,” Bucky said in affirmation, kissing her neck, before ducking from the hut and going outside to begin making breakfast.

Maggie smiled to herself, standing motionless a moment as she listened to the sounds of morning in Wakanda, or rather morning in Wakanda with Bucky. The snap and crackle of dry twigs and branches on the fire, the crunch of dirt under sandals, the sound of water being poured and pots and pans being adjusted. It was familiar and comforting, and she lost herself in the sensory input a moment before she started preparing for her day.

Stooping down beside the basket where she kept her clothes, she sifted through the small assortment of garments she’d accumulated at Bucky’s place. Her mind, however, wasn’t actively engaged in what she was doing and instead contemplated Bucky’s question.

What did she want him to contribute to the Dia de Muertos celebration?

It had been three years since she’d last celebrated. Last year, of course, she’d been in Juarez, getting shot at. The year before that? She’d spent it alone in her apartment at the compound. She’d spent a lot of the second half of 2015 by herself. She’d been so depressed she didn’t remember much. After Becca’s death, Argentina, and the move from the Avengers tower out to the compound, she’d been more or less consumed entirely by her task, trying to synthesize all the data she’d collected on the Wint— on Bucky.

She’d been grieving Becca, and the life she’d lost when Hydra had busted down her door. Those months after her last visit with Becca were a mere blur with the definable feelings of absolute rage and utter despair.

Had she fully processed Becca’s passing? As of yet, no. She thought she had before she’d arrived in Wakanda, but her first weeks in country had shown here that wasn’t entirely the case.

Tomorrow, on the Dia de Muertos, she would make a start of it.

Selecting her outfit for the day, she dressed and emerged from the hut and out into the sunshine. Bucky was already making breakfast, a steaming cup of coffee waiting for her on her side of the little table they shared their meals. Sinking down, Maggie took the cup in both hands and breathed in the comforting scent before hazarding a sip of the scalding liquid.

Wordlessly Bucky set a bowl of porridge in front of her, followed by a quarter of a mango before he sat down in front of her with the same spread.

“It looks good, thank you.” She murmured into her mug, taking another sip.

Bucky nodded, and they both dug in, eating in silence, and giving each other the space to wake up.

_What did she want him to bring?_ That really was the question, wasn’t it? She had foodstuffs more or less handled, and she would make do with what she had so far as decorations and constructing an ofrenda. She even still had her photos.

Maggie’s stomach twinged as the realization hit her full force of what Bucky should bring. “I know what I’d like for you to bring tomorrow.” She said, breaking the silence.

“Oh?” Bucky furrowed his brow.

“I’d like to include your sister on my ofrenda. I wanted to add her picture shortly after she passed, but I wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate. Now that I know you, I feel you’d be better equipped to make that call, and if you do agree to put her on the ofrenda, I’d like you to select the photo.”

Bucky didn’t respond, but a weighty thoughtfulness crossed his expression before he slowly nodded. “I’d be honored.” He paused, “but wouldn’t you want to choose the picture? She was your friend closest to her passing. I mean, we remember two very different versions of Becca.”

She couldn’t help but notice what he didn’t say. _The woman you knew and the girl I remembered. _ Maggie couldn’t blame him. It was a difficult situation to navigate, and one they had, thus far, avoided discussing. Maggie took a deep breath before continuing. “When I was growing up, it was a big deal to select the photo that went up on the ofrenda. When someone passed, it was the closest relative that was given that particular honor. If you want or need additional photos, I have some that her son, your nephew, gave me after she passed.” She explained quickly.

He didn’t say anything. His brow still furrowed, his gaze searching her and working through a myriad of emotions before spoke again. “I’d like to pick one out with you.”

Maggie knew by the tone of his voice that he had his mind made up for some reason, and she wasn’t going to argue even as much as she wanted to poke and prod and dig further into his reasoning. There would be an opportunity for that latter. “I look forward to it.” She replied, reaching across the table, she extended her hands to him, and he placed his hand in hers. “I love you,” Maggie said, squeezing his hand three times on beat as she spoke.

“I love you too.”

Maggie smiled, her stomach fluttering at the phrase, her heart skipping a beat. Bucky returned the smile, the grim furrow easing, his face lighting up. Then, her Kimoyo bracelet buzzed, and Maggie sighed. “I do have to get going, and unfortunately, I won’t be back tonight. I have some things to look after back in my village.” She said, leaning across the table, kissed him quickly before straightening up, letting go of Bucky’s hand, and standing.

“You know you could always move in, and we could have dinner together every night,” Bucky commented, collecting his bowl and mug to join her at the washbasin.

“I could, but then this wouldn’t be as cute.” Maggie chuckled as they stood side by side, washing their morning dishes. “Plus, we’d have to obtain permission from Jelani and Omondi, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to tell the whole of Wakanda my—our relationship status.”

Bucky snorted. “You’re assuming they don’t already know, doll.”

“Right, the betting pool being what it was.” She drawled. “Though I am sure King T'Challa would appreciate us being in the same place a majority of the time. Would cut down on surveillance,” Maggie paused. “I’ll talk with Jelani and see what must be done.”

“I understand.” He answered, something grave, nearly hurt in his tone.

“Hey.” She soothed, turning to him. “Moving in with you would be grand, swell even. I just don’t wanna be the stupid dame that steps on Royal toes and possibly international law.”

“Not that its stopped you before,” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“True.” Maggie reached up, kissing his cheek. “I do try not to make a habit of it, after all, not all of us have Steve Rogers as our squeeze to come bail us out.”

Bucky let out a short laugh, shaking his head with an eye roll. “He’s such a reckless dumb ass.” He met her gaze and amended. “Not that I’m complaining entirely.”

Maggie beamed. “No. I suppose I can’t either.” She cleared her throat. “But lunch tomorrow, and then Dia de Muertos celebration in the evening?”

“Of course.” He agreed, kissing her forehead. “Have a good day. I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Text me if you think if anything else I should bring.”

“Will do.” She reached up and kissed him. “I’m excited. This will be fun.”

“It will be.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

They parted, and she proceeded to saddle and mount Skywalker. Waving over her shoulder at Bucky she rode on to work and responsibility with a million thoughts and things racing through her head that she needed to take care of for the day and now the celebration tomorrow.

A year. She couldn’t believe it had been a whole year. A year ago she never would have imagined this would be her life. To be fair, there was no point prior that she could’ve ever guessed that this would be her life. Perhaps now was the time to examine all of the things that had brought her to this moment. To think about how she’d arrived in this place and time with a man only a year ago she’d harbored so many complicated emotions toward. Dia de Muertos would be a day of grieving for those lost, but most importantly, it would be a day of remembering.

-

Bucky watched as she disappeared from sight before he proceeded with his day as he normally would. It was always hard watching her leave, but it was a comfort to know she was still nearby and was safe, as compared to Steve and Natasha, who were doing who knows what, in some war zone or another. He also couldn’t believe he’d outright asked her to move in with him. He hadn’t really planned to. It had just sorta come out. Did he want her to move in with him? Sure. Where they ready for that kind of step? He wasn’t sure. They had told each other ‘I love you,’ wasn’t that a bigger deal than having her move in with him? The past month had been better than the three to four months prior. They were communicating better, talking more about the difficult things that were bothering them. He felt less and less like somehow the other shoe was going to drop, something was going to happen, she was going to see him for what he was, and that would be it for their relationship. So much had changed between them. He had changed, and yet Bucky would argue that he felt _more_ like himself now than he had in years.

All it had taken was the one and only Magdalene Ramirez dropping into Wakanda practically out of the sky into his isolated bubble to make him realize that even after The Princess Shuri had removed the programming, he hadn’t been living.

He couldn’t believe it had been a whole year since Magdalen Ramirez had re-entered his life, and on that anniversary they were going to honor and remember his sister.

What surprised Bucky was how many small anniversaries he’d allowed to pass without note or commentary. The anniversary of the Vienna bombing and that subsequent clusterfuck had come and gone. Likewise, his post-operation date, when The Princess had pulled him from cryo. Even the anniversary of Becca’s death had been a mere buzz under the general noise of existence.

For whatever reason today felt important, enough to mention it to Mags. It felt important to remember how far they’d come, and how much their lives had changed over the past year.

Flipping through the journals, her journals, he couldn’t help but read with new eyes. So much of what had perplexed him when he’d first read through them was now laid bare by experience and time. He could hear her frustration and pain written between the lines. He could see how angry she’d been, for good reason, at him, the world, and her situation. Yet, even with all of that, Bucky knew there was still so much unspoken.

He paused as he turned the page, removing one of the photos Mags had tucked into the pages. It was of her, Becca and Steve. From the spread laid out behind them, it looked like the Fourth of July. Her hair was styled in victory rolls, her lips smeared with red lipstick long worn away. However, despite her festive attire, there was exhaustion written in her eyes, her left hand conspicuously hung in a sling. Steve too looked exhausted. Even behind his smile there was pain, an unspoken sadness for those that were missing from the celebration. Then Becca, sitting between them wearing big round red glasses, smiling like anything, holding both their hands in hers. She looked frail, Bucky would even say sickly, but unlike the other two, there was no pain, no exhaustion, no sorrow in her features. In her smile, he could see the young woman he’d left behind so many years ago, and yet also shades of their mother and father, older and wiser, and full of stories and experiences that he could now only experience and share through Mags.

Putting the photograph back in its place, he swallowed the bitter bile that burned at the back of his throat and blinked at the sting of tears welling in his eyes before flipping to the next photograph in the journal.

This one, too, was painful, but he knew it well. It was a copy of the original of course. He’d watched Steve develop the original and present it to Becca right before they’d left for the Science Expo. He and Becca standing side by side on his parent's front porch. Both of them smiling. No, laughing he remembered, Steve had said something funny just before he’d snapped the picture, though he couldn’t remember what it was that he’d said specifically. The black and white photo, however, didn’t do justice to Becca’s favorite blue dress nor express the feeling of the crisp creases of his uniform. But there they were frozen in time, laughing and smiling like their worlds weren’t about to drastically change in ways they’d never imagine, blissfully unaware of everything that was about to happen.

Bucky found that his gaze lingered, perhaps longer than it should have, on the face of the young man smiling at him across space and time.

He’d recognize it anywhere. It was a face that he’d seen many times in the mirror, every morning when he shaved, a face he’d avoided looking at when he’d been on the run, and hadn’t had many occasions to look at since he’d forgone shaving since he’d come to Wakanda.

Yet, the face in the picture was different than the one he wore now. It was round and full and youthful, full of hopes, and dreams, and thoughts of the future and what that might bring. But just under the veneer, Bucky knew, even without looking at the photograph, the young man in that photo was doing everything in his power to hide just how scared he was for what was to come.

_You poor bastard,_ _you really had no idea. _Bucky might have said had it not betrayed a bit of pity. He didn’t pity the man. He couldn’t because it meant that he pitied himself. Yet, there was still the painful knowing that despite how frightened that man in the photograph might have been, his worst nightmares paled in comparison for what was yet to come for him.

He could recognize himself in the younger man’s features, yet, couldn’t help but wonder if the roles where reversed would the younger man be able to see anything of himself in his older, war-battered counterpart?

Would Becca have recognized him?

The very notion made his stomach turn as a nasty thought sneered at him through the dark recesses of his mind. _You’ll never get to know. You made a choice not to go to her, and now you’ll have to live with not knowing for the rest of your unnatural life, coward._

'How much of my brother is left to save.’ That’s what Becca had asked Mags, and Mags had given the best answer she could at the time. Yet, it didn’t answer the question. How much remained Bucky Barnes from before all of this shit, and how much had Hydra and the Winter Soldier replaced? Who was he now in their aftermath?

Though he detested the mean, cruel voice in the back of his head, he knew it was right. He’d never get to know. 

Those thoughts and more lingered with him as he read through the journals and contemplated which photograph he wanted to use for Mags’s ofrenda while he waited for her to text with further details about the Day of the Dead celebration for the following day.

She sent him a goodnight text and confirmed that he was able to come over around seven for dinner, but otherwise made no mention of anything he could bring to contribute to their meal. Then when they met for lunch during his feed rounds, she once again confirmed what time she wanted him for dinner and that he didn’t need to bring anything.

Yet despite this multitude of reassurance that she was excited to have him celebrate Dia De Muertos and that he only needed to bring himself as the afternoon wore on into the early evening, Bucky felt a sort of anxious energy descend upon him. He felt as though he was stepping on hallowed ground and that his presence represented some kind of invasion of Mags’s private world of grief and remembrance. She had talked with him some about what she’d lost: Riley, her brother, her life, and to a small extent Becca. This was a holiday entirely dedicated to the remembrance of those who had died, but the death of his sister was a topic they had yet to discuss to its fullest extent.

For Bucky, this was a pain that was still fresh in many ways and was, in many ways, one of the last thresholds that he and Mags had yet to cross together. Sure, they’d talked a lot about Becca and her life both before and after 1945, but never the events surrounding her death. This would give them a chance to do exactly that. What would come from it, and what new revelations he’d glean from their conversation he didn’t know, but it would certainly be a memorable, if not productive evening.

But he could not hold back the night. So as the day started to turn to night, he washed and dressed, and walked the familiar path to her house, letting the sounds and sights of dusk creep in around him until he came upon the horse village and to Mags’s hut. He found her outside cooking, torches around her property illuminated, creating a sense of spatial cohesion and festive celebration.

There was mariachi music playing as he approached, and she’d strung up brightly colored paper banners around the space. Against the forward-facing hut wall, she’d constructed an Ofrenda and pictures were displayed on carved wooden holders surrounded by a selection of fresh fruit and glasses of what he assumed was alcohol of some kind. In spaces where there were no pictures, fruit, or drinks, there were piles of local pink and yellow flowers.

Mags was adorned as well with the large metal earrings and cuffs she’d worn to the festival last year, a romper in the fabric of the water tribe, and her hair which was braided and wrapped around her head was secured with the combs he’d bought her. Festive and smiling and happy as though she had no cares in the world.

“Hey, Bucky! You’re right on time!” She greeted him with a broad smile as he approached, stealing a quick kiss as she moved around the fire.

"Everything smells wonderful. Is there anything I can help you with?” He inquired, setting down his satchel at the low table, turning to watch as she returned to her place beside the fire where she had a large cooking space occupied by tortillas which she fried, before arranging them on a plate beside her. On the table, there was a plate of onion, cilantro, and limes chopped, picked, and sliced beside a bowl of green salsa.

“Ummm. If you could start filling the tortillas with meat. I’m almost done frying the tortillas, and these are better consumed while they’re still hot.” She answered, motioning vaguely to the bowl of cooked meat sitting beside the plate with the empty tortillas.

“Sure.” He obliged, washing his hand, he crouched down beside her, reaching hesitantly for the bowl with his hand.

“It’s okay to use your fingers. If I weren’t frying these, I’d be using my fingers to handle the tortillas over the fire.” Mags continued without missing a beat.

“So, I take it you made everything from scratch?”

“Well, the tortillas, conchas, and horchata were the most labor-intensive, along with the papel picado, the little paper flags, but otherwise, most of this was pretty easy.” She shrugged, catching his gaze over her shoulder. “I know you asked what you could bring, but I swear, it _really_ wasn’t all that labor-intensive.”

Bucky nodded but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to push the issue. Obviously, for whatever reason, Mags had wanted to do all of this herself, and he wasn’t going to pick a fight over that, even if he was slightly irritated that she hadn’t allowed him to help. “So. Is this all traditional for Dia De Muertos?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Tamales would’ve been more traditional, but those _are_ labor-intensive.” Mags placed the last tortilla on the plate, and glanced up at him. “let’s move all this to the table. We can build the tacos together. I can grab the plate and bowl if you wanna pour us a couple glasses of horchata.”

Bucky nodded. Moving wordlessly, they worked in tandem, mariachi music playing in the background.

He poured the white milky substance into a couple of glasses and raised his to his lips uncertainly.

“It’s rice water, milk, sugar, and cinnamon. It’s good. I promise.” Mags practically giggled. “It’s sweet to cut a bit of the salty of the tacos.”

“Ah.” He hummed into his cup before taking a sip. It was sweet, and the cinnamon overwhelmed any other sense of taste or smell. Swallowing, he looked up to find Mags watching him with a delighted and intrigued expression. “It’s good. Uhhh. Interesting. I’m sure it’ll be good with the tacos.”

“It’s not everyone’s thing, but I appreciate your willingness to at least try it.” She laughed, setting the plate and bowl down.

Settling on opposite sides of the table, they continued filling the fried tortillas with the chopped and seasoned meat, mags hummed along to herself, while Bucky focused on what he was doing. “So what makes Tamales so labor-intensive?” He inquired after a moment.

“Making the tamale masa from scratch tends to be a bit tricky, and then it just is a whole process of spreading the masa on the corn husk, getting the filling cooked and put inside, and then steaming them. When I was little, and we’d make tamales around Christmas time, all the women in the family would be trapped in my grandmother’s kitchen all day. If I were going to do that here, I’d have to rope in probably the whole of the village to make about thirty dozen or so, just for it to be worth the time and effort.”

“Or so?” He echoed.

“Yeah.” She nodded as she started putting on the cilantro and onion on top. “Labor aside, it’s been a really long time since I’ve had street tacos and horchata.”

“How long?”

“Oh. It was back while I was living in New York City, with the Avengers.”

“Were they decent?”

“The Avengers or the tacos?” Bucky could hear the playfulness in her voice.

“The tacos.” He smiled.

“They scratched an itch,” At this, she paused, a look of realization crossing her expression. “I never told you about how Steve introduced me to Becca.”

“No. You haven’t.” He answered as he finished filling the tortillas with meat and proceeded to help with the cilantro and onion.

“Would you like me to?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well. Okay.” She began. “It was about a month after Hydra fucked me up and tried to burn me alive. I was having some trouble sleeping, so I went up to the gym to do a bit of cardio to try and yanno release some good endorphins so I could maybe possibly get some rest. And who do I find?”

“Steve?”

“Steven Grant Rogers, looking miserable as hell. So I went a little therapist on him and decided that he needed some comfort food…well that _we_ needed some comfort food, and I convinced him to walk with me to a nearby taco stand.”

“Ahh, of course.”

“I’m getting to the part with your sister, I promise.” She said, taking a quick drink of her horchata. “Okay. Okay. So.” Mags cleared her throat. “Steve and I are munching down on basically the same thing we’re eating now when I ask him about you. Or rather what I thought you’ might be doing, which Steve uhhh…did not take well. At all.”

“Oh?”

“He was grieving. I think. I mean, he was physically incapable of saying your name, never mind talking about you in any sort of capacity.”

At this, Bucky’s chest constricted, a lump forming in his throat. He’d had a feeling Steve hadn’t handled the situation well. The idiot had been prepared to let the Winter—let him beat him to death. Yet, hearing it from Mags was different. It was a confirmation of all he suspected. It was a glimpse into the reality of everything Steve, Mags, and Wilson had dealt with during the two years while he was on the run. “So he took you to Becca,” he commented, trying to keep the conversation moving.

“He did.” She nodded. “The bastard didn’t even tell me where we were going or who she was. It was at that point like five in the morning, and I’m sure your sister was super confused about why the hell Steve was dragging some rando over to her house.”

That certainly did sound like Steve, and Bucky could only imagine the trio standing on the front porch, Steve towering over the two women, both perplexed about the other. “I’m sure she was intrigued and delighted that Steve was bringing someone around.”

“Oh, she was. I think she was even more tickled that Steve hadn’t told me who she was.”

“So Bec knew, and you didn’t?”

“Yes. It was intentional. A sort of test, I think. To see if my intentions were good.” Mags explained as she wiped off her hands on a towel after she finished garnishing the tacos. “So they strung me on for a bit, and waited for me to figure it out.”

“What finally tipped you off?”

“Well. Steve got a text and had to leave on Avengers' business.”

“So he left you alone with some strange woman?”

“Yeah. At like five in the morning.” Mags shook her head. “So I was dazed and exhausted and depressed as shit, so it took me a bit to put two and two together.” At this, she paused, a faraway expression haunting her features a moment before she blinked, snapping out of it, she directed her eyes to him meeting his gaze directly. “There was a folded flag on her mantle with a photo next to it. At first, I thought it was her first husband’s flag. Then when I saw the picture next to it, the one of you and Becca sitting on the front porch, I realized who it was I was talking to.”

Bucky nodded firmly. Then, slowly wiping his hand off, he reached into the satchel, and removing her journal opened it to the appropriate page removed the photograph. “This one?” He extended it to her.

“Yeah.” She breathed, taking the picture in both hands. “That’s the one.”

There was something unspeakably tender in her expression. An absolute softness to her features as she surveyed the image. “Did you recognize me when you saw it for the first time?” He asked, hesitance in his voice as he braced for her answer.

“It took me a moment, but I did recognize you.” She glanced up at him, a gentle smile on her face. “It was your eyes.”

“Really?” There was an incredulous edge to his voice.

“Really.” She answered adamantly, returning the photo to him.

He took it and placed it back between the pages and closed the journal with a snap before he could stare too long at the faces looking out at him while he contemplated her words. His eyes. That’s what she’d recognized. What else could she discern between the two faces? He couldn’t help but wonder.

“Is that the one you want to use on the Ofrenda?” Her question startled him back to reality, and he looked up to see concern furrowed between her brows as she watched him.

Bucky lowered his head, focusing on the journal, still clutched in his hand. It _was_ the photo he wanted to use. He’d made up his mind last night that it was that one he wanted to go up on the altar. Not just for Becca, but for himself too. A sort of double meaning, remembering the sister he’d lost and mourning for the man he might have been. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to say it, not right now, not when they were talking about his sister. “I’d still like to pick one out together.”

“Yes, I know. But that is the last photo of you with your sister. I understand if that’s the one you want to use.”

She had seen right through him because, of course, she had. And it wasn’t even necessarily that he minded. He liked that photo, and it was obvious that Mags had some fondness for that picture as well. It just felt dishonest to remember and honor someone he’d only known for a mere fraction of her life. “How do you remember my sister?” He inquired, not quite an outright deflection, but certainly enough of one to avoid answering her question directly.

“Just a minute,” She said as she rose.

Crossing the space to the ofrenda and picking up a stack of photographs, she returned to the table. Then, instead of sitting down across from him, she sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder, legs crossed, and started flipping through the stack. Mags moved quickly, deliberately through the stack, until she came to the one she’d had in mind. “Here.” She said softly, extending the photo to him. “This was the last photo taken of just the two of us, and it’s how I remember your sister.”

Bucky took it from her, and carefully surveyed the subjects featured in the glossy print. It wasn’t nearly as crowded or noisy as the other photos she’d included in her journals, pictures of his family, and their holiday celebrations. Instead, it was just Mags and Bec, sitting side by side, both of them clutching a coffee mug, deep in conversation. Becca had a hand on Mag’s knee. Mags was laughing and pushing hair out of her face with her free hand. Neither of them aware of the camera or the person behind it.

Bucky was struck by how simple and intimate the moment was, just two friends, enjoying each other’s company.

“When was it taken?” He asked

“My birthday. Or rather the day after my birthday when we celebrated with brunch.” Mags explained.

“Did you know she was dying?”

He hadn’t meant for those words to come out, but they’d sprung fully formed, and he watched as Mags winced, shaking her head. Taking a moment and a deep breath, she leveled her gaze with his. “No. I didn’t. Becca knew, of course, and I’m sure at that point, Steve and her children knew.” She said, voice shaking, “She didn’t want me to worry, so she waited until she was about to enter hospice care.”

“It hurt you that she did that.” Again the words came out before he could think about what he was saying.

“I was more pissed at Steve for not telling me.” Mags paused, chewing on her lip so hard Bucky was almost sure she was going to draw blood. “My dad and grandparents did almost the same thing when my mother was dying.” She admitted, sniffling she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could think of to say.

“Don’t be.” Mags shook her head. “On either account. I don’t think I’d be here otherwise.”

“What do you mean.”

“Ooh, boy.” She exhaled sharply. Then, chuckling weakly, she continued. “The point of no return.”

“Point of no return?”

“A sealed packet of documents Natasha put together for me. Basically, up to that point, I hadn’t read or processed anything top secret or truly dangerous. If I wanted to go home after we found you, after my mission was complete, then I couldn’t open that packet. That was the line I couldn’t cross.”

“When Becca told you she was—”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because…because I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to my brother, and I wanted to give her that chance. I thought maybe that information would give me the lead, the clue, the edge I’d need to find you in time.”

“Mags. I’m so sorry.” He could see the ‘Barnes where the fuck are you?’ underlined and heavily drawn over in the journal, and could feel the anguish in her words. The pain that she’d carried with her, and the frustration she’d felt so visceral he could practically taste it.

“It’s not your fault.” She said slowly. “I wasn’t in a good headspace, and I put seriously fucked up expectations on you, me, Steve, and the whole situation.”

Bucky shook his head. “I should’ve gone to see her.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I almost made it to her, too.” He continued.

“What?”

“I almost made it to her before the withdrawal symptoms started.” He admitted. “That’s when I headed north.”

“To me.” Her voice was small as she said it as if registering the weight of his words for the first time.

“I've thought a lot about that decision not to go see my sister, and about my decision to go north instead. I'm still not sure if I made the right choice." He grimaced, waiting for Mags to make that connection, and to recoil.

Much to his surprise, she put her hand on his arm, squeezing it three times. “You know.” She began thoughtfully. “Neither of us would be here if you’d made it to your sister.”

This was true. It had occurred to him that things would have turned out different, but how different was really the question. “Well, you’d be on Last Chance still.” He reasoned.

“Maybe? Maybe not.” She shrugged.

“What do you mean?”

“I was weeks away from bankruptcy, my barn roof was rotting faster than I could patch it, and Jack Roberts was ready to send me to the hospital and set my house on fire. I’m not sure I would’ve made it much longer at the rate I was going.” She clicked her tongue, shaking her head gravely. “I can honestly say that what I was doing on Last Chance wasn’t living. I was just sort of ambling along, surviving.” Mags glanced up at him. “I can honestly say that I didn’t actually start living until I came to Wakanda.”

Bucky nodded. He could understand that when he’d been on the run that hadn’t been living, not really, surviving but barely at that point. Still, he should’ve gone back to say goodbye. He should’ve seen his sister one last time.

“Can I ask you something, Mags?” Bucky said slowly.

“Anything, Bucky.”

He took a minute to collect his thoughts, his gaze focused down on the photograph in front of him, and the old woman his sister had become in the years he’d lost. “Did she say anything to you about me? About being angry that I hadn’t come back for her. I prom—” His voice caught in his throat a moment, and he squeezed his eyes shut until he was in control of himself again. “I told her I’d be back before she knew it.”

Mags squeezed his arm again three times, and he could feel her exhale a long, slow, sad breath. “By the time she told me she was dying she’d accepted that she wasn’t going to see you again. Honestly, I don’t think she wanted you to see her that way. She said that maybe it was better that way, that you both remembered each other as you were, rather than what the world had made of you both.”

Her words stung, and he could feel tears prick just behind his eyes as his chest constricted.

_What the world had made of them both. _

Was she afraid of him? Of what he’d become? Bucky took a deep breath and charged on. “What do you think she meant, what the world made of us?” He managed, his voice thick with tears.

“I think she wanted you to remember the young woman sitting on the front stoop with her brother.” She said slowly.

“Rather than the Winter Soldier?” There was bitter disgust in his voice as he put the photograph down, to swipe at the tears that had started to form, and he sniffled, unable to stop himself in this humiliating display.

“I don’t even think it was that.” She shook her head. Pain and grief and trauma change you. Time changes you.” Mags paused, flipping through the stack of photographs, she removed another snapshot, and he glanced down to look at it through tear blurred vision. It was one of her with Riley Underdhal and Wilson. They were standing together at the gate outside of Last Chance. It was the ribbon-cutting photo he’d seen in her office. “I’m not that person. I remember her, and I miss her, sometimes, her hopes, her dreams, her aspirations. I think Becca understood that too, that the person in her mind didn’t exist anymore, in the same way that the young woman sitting on that stoop didn’t exist. We can’t go back to who we were, no matter how much we may want to try.”

Mag was looking at him, he knew, waiting for him to say something. Yet, what could possibly be said? Then it struck him. This was a woman who, for all intents and purposes, knew him, all of him, every aspect, every facet of his being. This was someone who’d been in proximity to the people closest to him at various points in his long and complicated past. Most importantly, this was someone who had gotten to know him since escaping Hydra, since starting fresh, since coming out of brainwashing and torture and trauma. Even after all the pain he’d caused her, she was still capable of loving him. She’d be able to give him an honest answer, even if it hurt, even if it broke both their hearts.

“If I’m not him, then who am I?” His voice hung in the air a moment before it was swallowed by the dull leaden silence that had overtaken their surroundings.

Mags sighed, “Your sister asked me how much of her brother was left to save.” She began slowly. Her eyes fixed front as if she was trying to strain to remember. “I told her I didn’t know. How could I know? You were scared and hurt and trying to shake off a whole shit load of things when you first stumbled into my barn. So I told her there was a still good man in the person I’d met, a man worth trying to find.” Her voice faltered a moment, but clearing her throat, she continued. “The last time I spoke to her when she told me she was dying. She said she’d been giving her Bucky to me, bit by bit so that when I did find you, I could pass along her last message, that your family loved you and never forgot you. Your sister also said that Bucky, her Bucky, would’ve loved me.” She shook her head.

“She said that?”

“Yeah,” She breathed.

Becca’s had said that? How could Becca have possibly known? Bucky felt dumbfounded by the revelation. “Why didn’t you tell me she’d said that?”

“I really honestly haven’t thought much about that last conversation with her, never mind _that_ part of the conversation in a very long time. I was too angry, at you, at myself, at the world, at the injustice of everything. But now. Perhaps I can understand what she meant.” Mags looked over at him, “I went to Becca to understand the man I was looking for. So she told me about you, about the love you had for your family, your kindness, and generosity, and mercy, and compassion, about your humor and wit, and your interests. She broke down the fundamentals of who you are, who you were to her into small digestible pieces, and bit by bit she gave you to me. More than just that, we became friends, bonding over our shared life experiences.”

“Losing a brother and a husband.”

“Yeah.” Mags nodded. “So by the end, knowing everything she knew about the both of us, she could confidently say that Bucky, her Bucky, you would love me.” Mags raised a shaking hand, wiping away a tear that had started to slip down her cheek. “And she was right. Wasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“So, you’re still him, still James Barnes.” She said, her voice deliberate and steady as she spoke. “Perhaps a little world-weary, battered, and battled hardened, but all the things that make you fundamentally James Buchanan Barnes, Becca’s brother, they’re all still there.”

They sat in silence a moment. Bucky could feel Mags shaking, and he slowly put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. His brain spun and whirled as it tried to process what she’d just told him, everything that she’d told him.

_ I’m not the same person I was, but I’m fundamentally still me._ As he digested that concept, a sort of peace fell over him, the tension in his chest eased, and he wanted to laugh and cry all at once. Then he turned to Mags, who was slumped against him. This woman had carried all of that in her this whole time? It was no wonder she was having all sorts of difficulty reconciling who he was with everything she knew. His mind turned again, to that moment when he’d realized Becca was gone and then to the moment he’d realized Mags was alive and had known his sister. There had been visceral anger and despair, the feeling that Mags had somehow tarnished his sister’s memory of him. Only now, it appeared, it was quite the opposite. “I owe you an apology, Mags, but also a great debt of gratitude,” He began softly.

“Oh?” She looked up at him, her brows furrowed.

“When Becca died.” He said slowly. “I felt like the last bit of the person I used to be, the Bucky from before everything happened, had died with her. When I realized that you were alive and that you’d known my sister—I felt as though you’d tainted Becca’s memory of me somehow. After all, I’d ruined your life, what reason was there for you to not tell her every horrible thing you knew about me, and the terrible _monster_ I’d become?” He exhaled a long, shaking breath. “But I was wrong, and only now do I realize how wrong I was. Thank you for telling me all of this, I know it couldn’t have been easy, carrying all of that stuff around with you. Thank you for opening your heart to me and trusting me enough to let me be apart of your life, even with everything you know that I’ve done and am capable of. Thank you for caring enough to want to know me, and for being a friend and a comfort to my sister when I _couldn’t_ be there for her.”

“I only wish I could’ve done more.” She answered slowly. “And I am sorry it took me so long to talk about Becca’s death with you.”

“You did all that you could do.” He paused, “It’s not your fault. I was afraid to ask. Afraid to know.” He admitted.

Mags nodded sympathetically, “But now we’re here.”

“But now we’re here.” Bucky agreed.

“And it only took us a year,” She chuckled.

“Yeah.” He breathed with a light laugh.

“I love you, James Barnes.”

“I love you too, Magdalene Ramirez.” He replied, kissing her forehead.

There was a pause, and a long collective exhale as if they'd both been hold a breath for longer than either could possibly recall. Then slowly, Mags breathed in. “So. What photo are we going to put up on the Ofrenda?” She asked her voice a mere whisper.

Bucky looked down at the picture of Mags and Becca sitting on the couch. There was happiness, and there was love, and there was beauty. “This one.” He said, reaching around to pick the photo up.

“Are you sure?”

“I am.” He nodded.

Mags surveyed him with a skeptical eye, trying to work through something in her mind. Then with a firm nod, she relented. “All right, then let's go put it on the Ofrenda before dinner gets too much colder.” She chuckled.

They both stood and walked purposefully over to the makeshift altar. They stopped a moment, and Bucky took in the rows of photographs, the faces lined up and looking out at them, most with broad smiled, unaware of what awaited them. Then, near the center of the altar, nearest the photograph of her, Sam Wilson, and Riley Underdhal, there was an unmistakeable gap, a small wooden photo holder industriously shaped like a little bird sat waiting for the last picture to complete the set.

Slowly Bucky extended the photograph to Mags who took it and carefully placed it in the photo stand. “May her memory be a blessing,” Mags said softly as she replaced the stand on the ofrenda.

“May her memory be a blessing.” Bucky echoed, taking Mags’s hand in his as she stepped back and away from the altar.

“Could you have imagined this a year ago?” She asked after a moment.

“Not in a million years.”

Turning to him, she went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Let’s eat. I’m starving. Then later, we can make hot chocolate to go with our conchas.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan.”

A year ago, this would’ve seemed like a complete impossibility, not just being here with Mags and enjoying one another’s company, but being able to talk about Becca with her, about what he’d lost, what they’d both lost.

Later, as they sat around the fire, laughing, telling stories, and drinking hot cocoa, Bucky found that he felt whole. By morning he’d be back in his head, struggling with reconciling a difficult past with an uncertain future, but at the moment he was content in the here and now, finally at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! It was a lot of fun to get to talk about Becca again (since she means so much to both Bucky and Mags), and I hope you all enjoyed some of the callbacks and references to "What it Means to Disappear." It's been a lot of work (both on their part and ours lol) to get them to this point and I have to say I think it's been worth it! There is still so much more to come, I can't wait to share what I have in store for them.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone reading, reviewing, and leaving Kudos/Subscribing or Bookmarking. It means a lot to know I have people interested and engaged with what I'm writing and it has really helped me maintain momentum through this very very long series and particularly long part of the series (Dudes we're 55 chapters in that's crazy!).  
I hope everyone is staying safe, sane, and healthy out there. Until next time, happy reading!


	26. Young and Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> TW: Mentions of death, cancer, and Alzheimer’s and memory related trauma mentioned
> 
> Recommended Listening: Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Ray; If Tomorrow Never Comes by Garth Brooks; Who Wants to Live Forever by Queen; Remember Me (Lullaby) by Gael Garcia Bernal
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=Hpb6WBUwQlypEotKk4peCw

“You all right, doll?” Bucky asked gently, trying to ease himself into her surrounding as he approached the blanket where she lay. Mags was sprawled out on her back on the plains tribe blanket she’d brought with her. Her eyes were fixed upward at the sky, where white fluffy clouds lazily drifted past. However, while staring up the sky, she wasn’t looking at the clouds. Instead, her gaze extended beyond that, well into space and a thousand light-years beyond to a place and time Bucky couldn’t guess, but knew that the day had everything to do with her strange mood.

It had been a little under two weeks since Dia De Muertos, and it was now November 11th. Armistice Day, Veterans Day, and perhaps most importantly, it was Mag’s 34th birthday. Something, to Bucky’s observation, wasn’t quite right. After Dia de Muertos, they’d been fine. It had been a relief to both of them to talk about Becca, and specifically about Becca’s passing, and it seemed they’d reached a new level of trust, understanding, and communication. Then a week ago, there had been a change, like a flip of a light switch, when out of nowhere, and completely unprompted, Mags had simply stated, ‘I don’t celebrate my birthday. I don’t want to celebrate my birthday. Please don’t plan or let anyone else plan something for me on that day.’

Bucky had, of course, promised that he would do as she wished. He understood having complicated feelings about celebrations and holidays, so he didn’t push the issue. Yet, there was something in him that continued to quietly pick at her statement, trying to unravel the hidden meaning in her words, long after the conversation had passed.

Why didn’t Mags celebrate her birthday?

It puzzled Bucky. After all, her favorite photo of her and Becca was from her birthday celebration back in 2014. Had that celebration been against her will? Or had something else happened since then that made her not want to celebrate her birthday? Last year she hadn’t mentioned anything, and it had taken King T’Challa mentioning his birthday gifts for her to openly admit her birthday.

He didn’t know, and as her mood grew darker as the day approached, Bucky knew more and more that he should ask. Yet, anytime he remotely got the chance, his words failed him. Something was upsetting her, and Bucky didn’t know what or why. So in preparation for whatever the day would bring, after failing to surmise what was wrong in the first place, he took the day off and made a concerted effort to get her to stay the night and through the following day so he could keep an eye on her. It was, after all, the least he could do in the given circumstances.

Thankfully she’d accepted his invitation, and they’d passed a quiet evening with dinner and a movie, My Fair Lady, from the 100 Greatest Movies list. Everything had seemed normal as they’d gone to bed, and even into the morning through breakfast and their usual routine. Then, around eleven, she’d gotten quiet, and collecting her blanket, she announced she was going to go lay out under the large tree just outside for a bit.

That had been three hours ago, and she hadn’t so much as moved or spoken a word since. It was eerie, and Bucky almost wished she was crying or making some sort of scene. At least then he would have a reason to stage an intervention of some kind, rather than watching her retreat within herself so far Bucky wasn’t sure he’d be able to get her back out again.

_God, I wish I could talk to Wilson or Steve, or even Nat. Someone, anyone who might know what’s going on._ But Bucky knew instinctively that nothing they could say would be able to soothe his mind or fix the situation in the slightest. He knew what he needed to do. If he had been the one acting this way, it would mean that he wanted to be left alone. He also knew that if he were in this kind of mindset, it would probably be best for someone to check on him for his own health and well being.

“I’m fine.” She answered after a moment. The pause was so long and heavy that Bucky hadn’t been sure she’d heard him at all, her eyes still light-years away.

“Would you mind if I joined you for a bit?” He continued. “I made lunch if you’d like some here in a bit. I also brought you some water. You should probably hydrate, it’s getting warm out here.” Bucky tried not to wince as he spoke, feeling more like a mother hen than a considerate partner. Whatever the case, both points were accurate.

“If you’d like.” Mags conceded, her eyes never wavering from their intense stare skyward as he sat on the blanket beside her, setting the water skin between them in case she wanted some water.

Then, there was nothing. Absolute and total silence as he tried to come up with what he wanted to say next. Did he ask her what was wrong? Would that incur her wrath? What would help rather than hurt the situation?

“My brother would be 41 if he was still alive.” She commented, her voice distant as she spoke. “I’d probably have nieces and nephews. I wonder if he would still have all of his hair, or if he’d have lost all of it like our uncle, Julio.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. Mags rarely mentioned her brother, Antonio, and now for whatever reason, he was at the forefront of her mind. Silently, Bucky grasped at what he might _possibly _say in response that wouldn’t sound wholly trite or disingenuous. _I’m sorry_ seemed a bit too simplistic, yet there was nothing more he could add to her statement. He did understand that feeling of curiosity and wonder. Had Becca thought the same thing about him? Had she thought about how old he might be, how many children or even grandchildren he might have had? Yet, of all days, why was Mags thinking about her brother? T_oday_ of all days.

Then, much to Bucky’s relief, but also compounding the feeling of dread, Mags didn’t wait for him to respond, and charged right on. “Tomorrow will be the 24th anniversary of his death.”

“Your brother died the day after your birthday?” Of course. Bucky knew that. He’d written it down in his journal. The date of birth and date of death for all of Mags’s known family and associates, it had been part of what he’d research on most of the people he’d killed for Hydra or those otherwise killed because of him. Why hadn’t he put two and two together before? _Well, you haven’t had access to those journals in over a year and a half. _Still, now she’d said it, it felt painfully obvious.

“Yeah.” Mags continued. “He snapped his neck after he was thrown from the horse he was trying to break. The horse that was supposed to be my birthday present. It was going to be my first barrel racing horse.” Her voice faltered only momentarily before she charged on, “Three years later, my mom died four days before my birthday. Breast Cancer. It was late state when they found it.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you.” She shook her head. “And anyway November is cursed as a month. Shit. Horrible shit always happens around my birthday.”

_It’s not cursed. _He wanted to say. Yet, that wouldn’t draw the best reaction from her. So how was he to proceed? Forward. Always forward. It felt stupid, silly even, to continue pushing but this was obviously bothering her, and if he didn’t push, it would continue to bother her and resolve nothing. “You can tell me if you’d like.” He suggested slowly.

Mags sighed, her breath blowing an errant strand of hair up around her face, and Bucky watched as it settled back on her forehead, curling and sticking to her sweaty skin and dangling in her eyelashes.

“It might not change anything, but if you’re hurting, it will help me understand why.” He said, reaching down, he swept the hair away from her eyes. His thumb stroked her forehead, trying to sooth the deep furrow that had formed there. Bucky slid his hand to cup her face, feeling the tension she was holding in her jaw.

Her dark eyes followed his movement as he towered over her. “I have a tough time asking for help.” She began slowly, her tone even, her words measured. “We’ve talked about that before, right?”

“Some. Yeah.” He nodded, retracting his hand and placing it in his lap.

“After my mom passed, it was more or less expected of me to take care of my dad and run the household.”

“At thirteen?”

“Traditional Mexican-American households have some strange gender politics.” She answered, shaking her head. “Anyway. I learned real fast to develop a stiff upper lip. And because I was more or less expected to take care of myself and everything else in the house for that matter, I internalized asking for help as an admission of failure.”

“You were thirteen.”

“Doesn’t matter. It didn’t change anything. That was just the reality.” She shrugged. “I adopted a lot of maladaptive coping mechanisms. Including a massive aversion to celebrating my birthday. Because not thinking about my birthday also meant I didn’t have to deal with the fact that I’d lost my mother and brother around the same time, too.” She sighed, her expression pinched in a disapproving scowl. “Not that it helped. Later, after my grandfather got Alzheimer’s, they moved him to a home, one of the last times I saw him was around my birthday. Even Riley’s death, which happened May 4th, still hurts more in November because that was when he was supposed to finish his tour and come home. Becca too. That was around the time Steve found out about her prognosis and didn’t tell me.” She stopped, exhaling sharply and squeezing her eyes shut. “It’s just difficult to want to celebrate when you feel like your birthday is an ill omen rather than something to be happy and excited about.”

“I understand.” He paused, “And I’m sorry you had to endure all of that.”

“And you know what’s even worse than that to me? What frightens me about losing a lot of the people closest to me so young?”

“What’s that?”

“Not knowing what old age is going to look like for me.”  
Bucky paused, weighing his words before he continued, “I don’t think anyone _really _knows what old age looks like until it happens to them.”

“I mean sure, yeah. But I think a lot of people have a good idea of what it _might_ look like for them. I didn’t even think I’d live to thirty.”

Bucky nodded. He could understand some of that. He didn’t know what old age was going to look like for him. He was, after all, 100 years old, very few lived that long, and very few lived long enough to experience everything that he had in that time. What would growing old look like for him? Could he in fact grow old? He didn’t know, that wasn’t entirely useful, at present. “I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about what old age might look like, but I do think about how I might have aged, how things might have been different if I’d told Steve something was strange after Zola experimented on me. But I do think it’s a similar impulse. With what I lived through, and what I saw I was lucky to reach thirty, never mind anything else.”

At his words, her eyes shot open, and she looked up at him with a quizzical expression, “You knew something was wrong as soon as that?”

“What?”

“You knew something was wrong, after Zola, when you were in the Howling Commandos?” Mags asked, a bright curiosity illuminating her expression

Well, this was certainly an improvement on her mood overall, though Bucky wasn’t sure by how much, exactly or what it might turn into next. Still, he was glad to see her snap out of the funk she’d been in only minutes before. “Not wrong, per-say, just odd. Increased stamina. Didn’t get tired as easily. I healed a lot faster. My metabolism was much faster.”

“You couldn’t get drunk.” She said flatly.

“I couldn’t get drunk.” He confirmed.

Mags paused, frowning, her eyes focused downward as if she was calculating something before she glanced back up, meeting his gaze directly. “Why didn’t you tell Steve?”

“Because he needed me to be okay. He needed me to be there, watching his back since he was going to do stupid shit regardless of if I was there or not.” 

“Put on a brave face, so he didn’t worry.” Mags supplied.

“Yeah.” He agreed.

“Sometimes, it just feels easier to put up that wall and pretended your fine than to let them know you’re dying on the inside.” She said distantly. “Seems like a bad habit we both suffer from.”

“You don’t pretend around me, do you?” He asked slowly, feeling a deep pit form at the pit of his stomach.

“I try not to, and I can certainly say I’m doing that less now than I was before.” Mags answered. “As I said, it’s a bad habit, and one I’m certainly working on breaking, but I fail at that as often as I succeeded it feels like at times. It’s almost a reflex at this point.”

Bucky nodded, “I don’t want you to have to pretend around me.”

“I don’t want you to pretend around me either.” She said with a soft, almost sad smile.

“Yeah.” He breathed, swallowing hard, he shook his head. “But after everything, I’m not sure how or if aging is going to occur. Neither of us, Steve and me, I mean, have been out of the ice long enough to really know if we’re aging or not.”

“You are.”

“What?”

“You’re aging,” Mags said firmly.

“How do you know?” He countered, taken aback by the finality and surety of her statement.

At this she smiled broadly, propping herself up on her elbows, and reached out with her left hand stroking his beard, her fingers running through the overgrown hair. “You have grays in your beard.” 

“I what?”

“Mhh, Hmm.” She said gently, a sweet tenderness to her expression. “You have some gray in your beard. Not very much, but I do spend some considerable time close to your face. Close enough to see them.”

“Oh.” He practically choked on the word as a sudden tightness seized in his rib cage. Of all the things to suddenly make him choke up, it was this. Grey hair in his beard. A sign of aging. A notion that he could somehow grow old.

“I know I have some grays mixed into all of this.” She commented, ruffling her hair with both hands as she lay back down flat on the blanket. “My mother went completely grey by the time she was thirty and dyed her hair frequently. I’m surprised I haven’t gone completely gray yet either. With both the stress and genetics at play and all that.”

“That would be something to see, a completely grey-haired Mags.”

“I would look like a little Abuela.”

“Abuela Mags, I like the ring of that.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.” She rolled her eyes with a good-humored chuckle.

“Am not. Imagine it. Abuela Mags with a gaggle of children and grandchildren? I think that sounds amazing.”

“And the father of all these children?” She asked skeptically.

“Some pencil-pushing desk jockey.” He said, leaning down and kissing her quickly.

“Again, with the desk jockey?”  
  
“Someone who’s worst occupational hazard is a paper cut.” Bucky continued

Mags nodded thoughtfully. “And you? Where would you be in all of this Abuela Mags nonsense?”

_Dead probably, _was the answer his gut instinct replied. He was a walking occupational hazard. Even if he didn’t die on the battlefield or fighting some international terrorist threat, he wasn’t sure how the serum worked or if it would somehow suddenly stop working. There were no certainties, never mind where he’d be in another thirty or forty years. However, unwilling to bring any of that out into the open at the moment, he instead replied, “Whatever you want.”

“Abuela Mags’s boyfriend?”

“If you want.”

“And you could handle that? Seeing me old and gray?”

“I would relish the opportunity to see you old and gray and living out your life to the fullest.”

Then she paused, her expression going dark a moment before she continued slowly, “Could you handle watching me forget? Could you handle watching me forget you?”

_Forget? Why would you forget me?_ Bucky wanted to ask with all the bravado and confidence of a young man who didn’t know any better. Who was young and full of vim and vigor, with wide eyes and great hope and expectations for the future. But he couldn’t, because he knew what she was talking about. She’d mentioned it only minutes before. Her grandfather had died from Alzheimer’s, and she’d said she didn’t know what growing old looked like for her because her mother and brother were dead. Who knew if she was going to get Alzheimer’s too.

“It’s not an easy thing to endure or watch. The last time I spoke to my grandad, he didn’t know who I was.” Mags continued without waiting for his response. “He called me Angela, my mother’s name, who at that point had been dead almost a decade by then.” She shook her head, chewing on the corner of her mouth. “It was difficult to watch.” She paused, turning her head, she leveled a wet gaze on him, her face grave. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he breathed, bracing for whatever was about to come next.

“What was it like when you woke up and didn’t know who or where you were?”

It wasn’t exactly a punch in the gut, because he’d been expecting it, but the question still stung, sucking his breath away and sent his heart and mind racing.

“If you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to. I know that’s a difficult subject.” She said after a moment when he didn’t respond.

Bucky shook his head, “No. No. You asked an honest question, I just want to give you an equally honest answer.” He paused, trying to find the right words for what he was going to say next. “I don’t have a coherent recollection of my time with Hydra. Particularly when I was in and out of cryo for missions, when I recall it, it’s more of a sensation, a feeling. I was scared, disoriented, angry even. Nothing made sense, I could remember some of my old life, some of old Bucky from before Hydra, but they wouldn’t explain, wouldn’t tell me what I was seeing and remembering. I knew I should know. I should remember who I was, what was going on, what the memories meant. The sensation of feeling like I should know, but not knowing was at the forefront of my experience.” He answered, watching her grave expression soften as he spoke. “Does that help answer your question?”

“Some,” She nodded. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”

“Fortunately, I’m not alone now.” He replied, reaching out and stroking her face gently. “And you won’t be alone either should it come to that.”

“It was difficult to watch my granddad go through that. It felt so helpless. I know I didn’t do everything right, but I hope that he knew that I loved him and that I cared for him.”

“I’m sure he knew.” Bucky paused, “You and your grandfather were close?”

“Yeah. He and grandma took me in after my dad kicked me out. It was hard to watch him disappear, forget himself, who he was, and even who I was, bit by bit.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I fear growing old. Maybe that’s because I never thought I would. But I do fear forgetting.”

“Is that why you celebrate Dia De Muertos?”

“It’s a combination of things, I think. I did celebrate growing up with my family. But after my grandfather was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, the memory aspect of it became more important to me, the remembering: family history, passing down stories, remembering those that had come before us. Later, when I got into the equine therapy business, having an Ofrenda, and by extension celebrating Dia de Muertos, became a way to remember those who had lost their fight. To remember those I couldn’t help.” She sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“I understand.”

“I know.” She replied. “It really would sound like a load of crock from just about anyone else. But with you, I know that you understand.”

Bucky nodded. “I won’t let you forget. As long as I live, I won’t let you forget. I won’t let you forget anything”

Mags nodded in reply. “I won’t let you forget either. So long as I live. Any of it.”

“Any of it?”

“Good, bad, ugly, and otherwise.”

Bucky cracked a small smile. “Speaking of remembering. Do you remember what we were doing this time last year?”

“I was getting horribly lost on my way to get Jelani’s tools back from Omondi. I think. Right?”

“Right.”

“And you. You were sitting in the field watching me as I walked around in circles.”

“Not in circles, and I didn’t let you wander long. Though I wasn’t sure you were going to accept my help.”

“If you’d asked me the odds of accepting your help, I would’ve given it about a 50/50 chance.”

“So it could’ve gone either way.”

“You did ask nicely. So that certainly was in your favor.”

“That’s all it took?” Bucky asked, feeling more than a little surprise at the admission.

“The power of manners is a strong and persuasive force. So is a fast moving storm in an unfamiliar jungle.” She giggled, shaking her head. Pausing to clear her throat she continued, “I was just about ready to rip your throat out. It wouldn’t have taken much to push me over the edge. I was _not_ in a good place.”

“I could tell.”

“Could you?”

“I mean, I knew you were angry. Though what exactly you were angry about, I couldn’t guess at the time, but I knew to tread lightly.”

“I am sorry about my behavior toward you those first few weeks. It wasn’t a good time.”

“I understand. I don’t hold it against you, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Well, that’s good.” She chuckled, “To be fair, it was mostly a series of miscommunications based on assumptions about one another. Fortunately, we have learned and grown a great deal since then; as individuals, and I’d argue as a couple.”

“Who could’ve guessed hauling you down the mountainside over my shoulders would be the start of all of this.”

“You mean you’re not counting the two weeks you spent in my barn?” She asked wryly.

“I’m not sure I remember enough to count those two weeks. I was barely conscious, never mind human.”

“True.” Mags agreed. “God. I can’t believe it’s been a year since you dragged me out of a storm.” She shook her head.

“Time flies when you’re having fun?” He offered uncertainly.

“Something like that.” She chuckled before she trailed off. “You were serious about moving in together, right?” She asked slowly.

Bucky had to pause a moment as he tried recover from the conversational whiplash. “I was. I mean, I am.” To her it might not seem that way. He hadn’t pushed the issue since he’d asked. He figured that if she wanted to move in, she’d express her interest in her own way and her own time. Of course that hadn’t stopped him from asking Omondi what the process would like, but otherwise hadn’t gone beyond that. “Why?”

“I asked Jelani about the process since we’re both sponsored through our respective villages. Apparently, he asked around, and it went all the way up to King T’Challa,” She explained. ` 

“Oh?”

“We should know for sure in a few days. But I just wanted to double-check that was still something you wanted.”

“I would like you to move in with me. The question is, do you _really _want to move in with me?”

“Mhh, hmm.” She nodded. “Believe it or not, enjoy being around you, enjoy your company, your wit, your sarcasm. I particularly enjoy how you make me coffee in the mornings, so I don’t have to think that hard that early. And really, it just means all my clothes will be in the same place and I won’t have to think too hard about where I’ll be eating dinner, falling asleep, or waking up. It simplifies my life drastically.”

“I’m glad to be of service,” He laughed. “What do you think the likelihood is that he’ll say no?”

“You know, I’ve been sort of wondering that myself. I don’t have any sort of notion which direction this will go, one way or another.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see then, huh?”

“I suppose so.” She agreed.

There was a lull in conversation, and they both drifted off a moment, still looking up at the sky. It would be nice to wake up and go to bed next to her every night. He enjoyed her presence, the closeness of her. It was a comfort of sort to know that she wasn’t far away.

“So, Abuela Mags’s boyfriend?” Mags practically giggled as she broke the silence.

“I don’t see why not.”

“They’ll think I’m a cougar.”

“Assuming I don’t age at the same rate you do.”

“Little would they realize that you’re actually a cradle robber.”

Bucky chuckled. “I guess we’d have to set the record straight then, wouldn’t we?”

“Yes, we would.” She agreed.

There was another long pause, as they both digested the mental image of this dichotomy, and then just as quickly tried to put it out of their minds.

Growing old. Was it possible? Would he get such a luxury? Unlikely, but it was still a fun notion to entertain, at least in the private little world they’d created here together. Neither of them could guess what tomorrow might bring, but even being able to contemplate a life together in the future, far in the future, thirty maybe forty years from now. That was something special, something truly unique in all of the experiences he’d had with relationships thus far in his hundred years of life. And to think he might not have ever met her, if not for pure happenstance. If he’d stumbled into one barn over, or had gone to see Becca this would be a completely different story, with different characters, in a different place, and time, and circumstance all together. Certainly he wasn’t glad for all the pain, and destruction, and heartbreak he’d caused her because of his presence in her life. But he was glad to have met her. Thankful beyond anything that in all of time and space, he’d some how managed to meet, befriend, and fall in love with her. Had he told her that? Perhaps?

“Hey, Mags?” He ventured slowly.

“Yeah, Bucky?”

“I’m glad I met you. I’m glad you’re in my life.”

“I’m glad you’re in my life, too, Bucky.” She chuckled softly, her tone and body language matching up now, rather than dread hanging around her like a dark thunderhead.

“Happy Birthday, Mags.” He said. “I’m thankful you’re alive and here with me now.”

“Thank you. I guess I’m glad to be alive too.” She breathed.

And there was nothing more to be said. No other question to ask, no conversation, or argument to be drawn out. After a moment of silence, he slowly lay down beside her. Quietly taking her hand in his, he squeezed it three times, and then another three times, and another three times after that until she responded with three squeezes of her own. Their faces skyward, his mind drifted far and away lost contemplating a future that might not be, but that he would desperately love to make a reality. And for long moments in this comfortable silence, they watched as the clouds drifted on by.

-

So, it was her birthday. Maggie was kind of embarrassed that Bucky had come to check up on her, or frankly that he knew it was her birthday at all. She of course had known that he knew what her birthday was. He had after all done all that research on her, and had been around last year when King T’Challa had asked her about her birthday. She had tried to ignore the looming threat of her birthday for as long as possible, and Bucky to his credit hadn’t asked her what she wanted to do for her birthday. Yet, she hadn’t been able to shake that feeling he was going to plan something, and she would be forced into a birthday celebration somehow. It was why she’d stated clearly that she didn’t want a birthday celebration. Perhaps that had tipped him off on her mood and disposition which had then created some cause for alarm.

In the end, she hadn’t really minded the intrusion, it was better that she’d been interrupted in her spiral and forced to explain what was going on, rather than being left to her own devices. However, now that the conversation had reached it’s natural end, they lay there side by side in the quiet heat of the afternoon. The temperature had driven most animals, birds, and even insects into a state of quiet, so for a while, all Maggie could hear was the sound of her and Bucky breathing, and the occasional buzz of flies too stupid to drop dead in the heat.

The buzz of flies was only rivaled by her own buzzing thoughts that swirled in the mire that was her addled brain. They had just unpacked a whole twenty four years of baggage in a little less than thirty minutes. That was a lot to process, and she wasn’t sure _she_ even knew what the hell had happened, never mind be capable of digesting and storing all of these new revelations for later when she could talk with her therapist.

“I did make lunch, if you’re interested,” Bucky intoned from where he lay beside her.

Food, right that, he had mentioned when he walked over that there was food. Maggie’s stomach growled at the thought. Breakfast seemed so long ago now, yet, after all of that, Maggie knew if she was going to be any good for the rest of the day, she needed to do something approximating proper mental health aftercare. “Yeah. Lunch sounds good.” She agreed, propping herself up on elbows as Bucky sat up, brushing some leaves, dirt, and grass that had managed to get tangled in his long and increasingly unruly hair.. “You go on ahead. I’ll be right there. I just need a moment to process and put myself back together.” Maggie said.

“You okay?” His voice was calm, but the furrow between his brow indicated a deep concern. Rightfully so, considering all of the shit they’d just dredged up and discussed, never mind her mood over the past few days wasn’t exactly inspiring.  
  
“We just talked about a lot of heavy, difficult things. I’m feeling a little emotionally raw.” She explained. She owed him that at the absolute least.

“Oh.” His lips formed around the word rather than creating any actual sound. “That’s perfectly understandable.” Bucky nodded, leaning down and kissing her forehead. “What do you need?”

“Just a moment to collect myself before I have any more human interaction, with you or otherwise.”

“I understand.” He nodded, rising but not before he kissed her forehead again.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be right over there if you need me.” He motioned rising and turning to walk away.

Maggie waited until his footsteps had faded into the distance before she exhaled a long breath she hadn’t entirely realized she’d been holding.

Her heart was racing, her pulse pounding in her temple.

She didn’t know what she’d expected to happen when she came outside to be alone. She’d honestly assumed that he would leave her be, and he had, for which she was grateful. Yet, in a small way, she was also glad that he hadn’t left her completely alone to marinate (or more frankly to rot) in the multitude of memories, regrets, and bad feelings she had surrounding her birthday. Bucky had somehow managed to provide her both space to be alone, as well as necessary intervention and discussion with the situation required. It was a delicate balance that Maggie felt she struggled with regularly, that somehow Bucky had somehow managed, even if it was probably a one time fluke.

It was strange, but she’d never explained to anyone why she didn’t like celebrating. Sure, she’d given partial explanations to Riley, Sam, and a select number of others, but she’d never outright said how she felt about the day, hell even the whole month. She hadn’t ever felt the need or even the desire to explain everything. After all, everyone had their problems and baggage. Riley had been an orphan (he’d lost both parents in quick succession when he was around eighteen), Sam too had lost his father in his teens. No one was without their problems, life issues, and well…frankly…baggage. Yet, it had felt important to share all of that with Bucky. But why?

Maybe, she realized after a moment of contemplation, it wasn’t Bucky she was admitting all these things to. Was she perhaps instead owning up to all of the baggage and trauma that she’d hauled around with her for over two decades at this point. Had she ever, in her whole life, admitted to anyone that this was the reason she didn’t like her birthday? Sure, she’d come up with a plethora of reasons and passed them off to her loved ones, but she’d never admitted the whole truth. Had she ever admitted to herself that she didn’t like her birthday because of all the death that had occurred around it, but also because of her fear of growing old?

No.

So what had made her tell Bucky? What had allowed her to be so open and candid with him and, more specifically herself, about the root cause of all her melancholy related to her birthday?

Therapy had certainly helped with that, but even Maggie knew there was more to it than that.

Bucky had the perspective she needed to conceptualize what had happened to her, and what might happen to her. Bucky had lived her worst nightmare, and had answered her questions as honestly and frankly as she’d asked them. And though she knew Alzheimer’s and Hydra’s memory-mind-wipe were two fundamentally different situations, living without your memory or being unable to make sense of what you were remembering, hearing, or seeing was comparable to some degree.

Even aside from that, Bucky’s words stuck with her, _‘As long as I live, I won’t let you forget.’ _

Not necessarily the most grandiose or extravagant declaration of love, but Maggie would argue, it was fundamentally the most romantic thing she’d heard in a long, long time. Particularly with the history they both shared and what they knew of each other’s history. Memory, and the act of remembering was just about as radical an idea as eternal love, and soulmates.

_I won’t let you forget. _Then he’d added, _‘Anything.’_

_I won’t let you forget anything._

There were a thousand different qualifiers he could’ve added, ‘us,’ ‘me,’ ‘Wakanda,’ ‘here and now,’ but instead, he’d chosen ‘anything.’ Good, bad, otherwise, he wasn’t going to let her forget anything. It just felt so profoundly meaningful, and it made Mags want to laugh, cry, scream, sing, and maybe even vomit all at once.

She took a deep breath, trying to slow her pulse, and regulate her breathing. She felt so vulnerable, emotionally naked in the face of everything she’d said, everything they’d talked about as it related to the past, present, and even the future.

_The Future._

They’d talked about a future together. A future, together.

_Abuela Mags._

The very notion of that was ridiculous. Her a grandma. Yet, as ridiculous as the notion was, Maggie relished the thought of them having that much time together, of them having a family together, probably not biological, but having a familial network to nourish and grow and protect together was an amazing thought to have at a time when she didn’t feel that she had much in the way of a familial network to rely upon. 

_Are you saying you want to have James Barnes’s babies, Magdalene Ramirez?_

No. That wasn’t it at all. She didn’t, frankly, want to have anyone’s babies. But just the idea, the notion that she could even imagine a future where they’re in it together, happy, surrounded by loved ones. It was so vulnerable. It was something she hadn’t even allowed herself to contemplate to herself, never mind out loud with someone else, in a very very long time. It was something that now that she’d thought about it, and talked about it she remembered she deeply craved. Sure, it was nice to have a partner, but the idea of building that partnership into a familial network, that was the dream, a dream that she, Riley, and Sam had dreamed of once upon a time. Something that she thought would forever be denied to her. Now? Somehow, despite everything she’d been through there was a glimmer of hope, a fragment of a dream being spoken into the world that she never would’ve imagined even a year ago.

Maggie took another deep breath, focusing her energy on centering herself, and trying to ground herself in her current reality and moment.

The sun bore down on her, and the air was sticky and heavy with humidity that felt so thick it was catching in her lungs. Fortunately, there was a cool breeze that kissed her brow and skin practically slick from sweat from the humidity hanging around her.She could smell whatever it was that Bucky had made for lunch hanging on the air along with the grass that was practically baking in the hot sun beside her. There was also the scent of animals too, goats, and her horse, Stella, whom she’d ridden over the night previous, leaving Skywalker with Jelani’s herds for the day.

Soaking in her surroundings, Maggie slowly knit her mind, body, and soul back together after it had been torn asunder (like some ripped bodice woman on the front of a harlequin romance novel) by her and Bucky’s conversation.

After a long while, finally satisfied with how she was feeling, Maggie stood up, brushing herself off, and collecting her blanket, turned to where Bucky was situated, and smiled. “I’ll be right there.” She called, drawing his attention as she picked her way over to the table where he sat.

“How are you feeling?” Bucky asked as she joined him, a plate and cup already laid out and waiting for her when she sat down.

“Still raw, but marginally more put together.” She admitted.

“Anything I can do to help with that?” He inquired.

“Other than everything you’ve already done for me today?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“You mean like being a caring and concerned partner? I’m not sure that counts for ‘doing’ everything.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I guess I would be.” He agreed.

Maggie paused at this, mulling over what he’d said. It was her birthday, yes, but that didn’t mean that she _had_ to do something traditionally birthday oriented. She could do anything she wanted, and Bucky would be, more than likely, a willing accomplice to whatever plan she might hatch. “Is it to late to request a birthday wish?

Bucky stopped, and raised an eyebrow somewhere between skeptical and amused. “Oh?”

Maggie blushed. Well now she felt silly. She’d made all that fuss about not wanting to celebrate her birthday, and now she was requesting to do something for her birthday. In her defense though, she had meant something like singing of any birthday song, or like a group celebration of some kind. If it was just her and Bucky, it wasn’t _exactly_ a birthday party. It was just them doing stuff together like they normally did. “Don’t worry. It’s not exactly a big ask.” She continued.

“Even if it was. I’d be happy to help accommodate in any way that I can.” He answered seriously.

Yet still, Maggie hesitated. “You’re going to laugh, it’s stupid.” She said, fiddling with the clasp of the bracelet he’d given her last year, as a sort of birthday present.

She didn’t look at it much anymore, but she did wear it constantly still. It helped ease a the pain of a wound and although she’d carry it for the rest of her life, it was now easier to manage. How funny then, it was to think that he’d done the same thing for her today, with their conversation, for a wound and a pain she’d carried for so long it had very nearly become just as much apart of her as her own flesh and blood. “No. I guess you wouldn’t.” She continued before he could say anything.

“I’d like to go back to the falls after we’re done with lunch. A bit of water and sunbathing would do us both some good, I think. It’ll certainly cool us off in this weather.” Maggie said slowly.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been over to the falls. Sounds like a sound plan, and excellent strategy for beating this heat.” He agreed, a note of relief crossing his face.

“What did you think I was going to suggest?”

“I had no idea.” Bucky admitted. 

“Well, that’s good, I do like to think I keep you on your toes.” She replied with a self deprecating smile.

“Being with you certainly is an adventure,” Bucky replied “Of the good kind though, I’d argue,” He added

Maggie nodded with a heavy sigh. A _good_ kind of adventure. Well that was a relief. She’d hate to think she was the other, more miserable kind of adventure. She certainly felt more the latter than the former recently, but she was glad Bucky didn’t think so. “Thank you, Bucky, again, for being such an understanding and caring partner. These last six months or so have been really difficult for both of us. I’m glad I had your support and help to get me through.”

“Always.” He paused a mischievous expression danced only a moment on his expression, before he continued. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

“Oh. No!” Maggie groaned.

“Did you think I’d forgotten about that?” He laughed with a wide grin.

“I’d rather hoped, James Barnes, you cheesy bastard.”

“Never.”

“Cheeseball.” She shot back.

“Well, better a cheeseball than a bastard.”

“True.” She conceded. “So. Lunch, and then the falls, yes?”

“Yes.” He agreed. “Will you stay over again tonight?” 

“Don’t see why not.”

“We can do dinner and a movie.”

“That sounds great, do you have a movie in mind?” Maggie replied as they fell back into their familiar back and forth, all the tension and uncertainty that had been mounting evaporated in the air around them.

“The Princess and I were talking during my scan earlier in the week, and she mentioned Disney has a movie out about Dia De Muertos. It’s called Coco, I believe. She gave me a copy to watch. If you’re interested, we could watch that.”

“Wow. That sounds awesome, actually.” She admitted, stunned at both the fact Disney had decided to make a movie celebrating her culture, and that Bucky had thought enough about Dia De Muertos to mention it to the Princess, which had in turn prompted the suggestion. “And here I was going to suggest we re-watch Casablanca.” Maggie added dryly.

“Really? You would actively volunteer to watch 1940s nonsense with me?” He teased with mock incredulity.

“Shocking I know.” She rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t realize you enjoyed the movie _that _much.”

“To be fair, I only suggest it because that _specific_ 1940s nonsense has virtually become a running inside joke between us.” She reasoned. “I’m very specific in what 1940s nonsense I’m willing to engage with.”

“Gee thanks, Doll.”

“Christ Barnes,” Maggie laughed, “In all fairness to everyone involved I was under the impression you would count as a relic of the 1910s.”

“I only technically lived through a single year of 1910s, and I don’t remember any of it. But by that logic, the strongest argument could be made of the 30s since I remember more than _half_ of the decade.”

“Depressing.”

“A _great_ one, or so I’m told.”

She snorted. “I have told you you’re a cheeseball today, yes?”

“Yes, but I think another reminder is more than fair,” He replied.

“You’re a cheeseball, Barnes.”

“Well, If that’s the worst you can say of me, I’m happy to take it.”

“Truly,” She agreed.

“But, all things being equal, and since it is your birthday, I think a double feature is in order for this evening.”

“A more than fair compromise to our current cinematic predicament.” Maggie grinned.

“Then I’ll be sure to make it so.” Bucky nodded, “But now. Lunch. Otherwise we’ll never make it there and back in time for dinner _and_ two movies.”

“Yes. Yes. Indeed. Less talking more eating.” She said before digging into the spread Bucky had prepared for them.

They ate lunch, packed their bags, and went to the falls for the remainder of the afternoon. After they’d gotten their fill of swimming, and had laid out a bit to dry off they returned to make dinner and settle in for their double feature.

They started with Coco, arguing that since they’d never seen it they’d want to be _most _awake for that part of the marathon. From the moment the opening credits of Coco rolled, Maggie found herself on the edge of tears, as the story of family, music, and remembrance of the dead unfurled before them. While sensitive to her emotional state, Bucky also occasionally paused the movie to ask specific and detailed questions about the real Dia De Muertos celebration in comparison to the Disney-fied version, which provided relief from the onslaught of emotions coming at her. Despite this, she still ugly cried several times, specifically at the ending with the song “Remember Me.”

Emotionally and physically exhausted, by the time Casablanca rolled around, Maggie snuggled against Bucky as the last dregs of her energy rapidly slipped away. With Bucky’s arm wrapped around her, Maggie allowed the black and white classic with it’s nostalgia old and new, to wash over her. She couldn’t believe it had been a whole year since their trek down the mountain side. She had survived another trip around the sun safely. Perhaps more important that just merely _surviving_ a trip around the large burning celestial body, she’d started _living_ maybe even _thriving_ over the past year in this remote African paradise. When she’d first arrived she thought it was going to feel more akin to a prison than a home. Much had changed since those first weeks, and although she still felt keenly that she was a guest in the place, she also felt more at home here than she had those last months she’d spent at Last Chance, or even the two years she’d spent in a virtual purgatory with the Avengers.

She’d changed, grown, healed, grieved, made new friends, and even learned to trust another person enough to let them past her crunchy outer exterior. The day was a testament of all of that. By no means was she ‘fixed.’ She would never be done with the process of overcoming her traumas and healing from them, but today was a real show of her progress.

Glancing up, at Bucky, she found his bright eyes fixed on the screen they’d set up inside his hut (or hopefully soon to be _their_ hut.) _How strange life is. _Maggie couldn’t help but observe as she watched him watching the screen. How fickle, and awkward, and unexpected and wonderful the last year had been, thanks in no small part to the man sitting beside her in the dark.

Who could’ve foreseen that this would be the outcome of a chance encounter in her barn over three and a half years ago? Who could’ve guessed that some nobody Mexican-American woman from middle of nowhere West Texas would end up here, now, in this place, with a man even less likely than she was to exist in this space and time? It was nearly more than her mind could handle at any given time.

Returning her gaze to the screen, her mind wandered, and for the first time in a long time she wondered with hope, rather than dread, what the next year might bring for her. After all, she never would’ve imagined this, who knew what the universe might have in store.

_Here’s looking at you kid, indeed._ She thought chuckling to herself as she slowly fell asleep in the embrace of the man she loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed. Some angst, some fluff, some sweet, and definitely a lot to think on for the characters! This has been a crazy to write both as a fic and as a series! But I assure you as we move closer to the end of Pt. 3 and into Pt. 4 there is so much more left in store for our duo that I can’t wait to share with you!
> 
> As always, I love hearing what you think, writing is a such a solitary pursuit, your comments are welcome and cherished dearly (as are kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions).
> 
> Until next time, Happy Reading!


	27. Old Friends, New Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton; You Look So Good In Love by George Strait; It’s been a Long Long Time By Harry James and His Orchestra
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/1253302637/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=D-TyejGsT9qtsCA5KQdI8g

The weeks passed quickly and without incident. The largest to do had been the decision handed down from on high about her ability to move in with Bucky. The King and their sponsors, after some deliberation, ultimately gave their blessing, and so they’d moved in together. Her loom, biggest and most cumbersome possession she owned, had been the most challenging possession to move, everything else has fit in a couple of small bags and baskets, and they’d managed the move in one mule cartload. And like that they were living together.

Fundamentally nothing had changed. She still went to the weaving circle (mostly for the social aspect of it), Bucky went to his weekly poetry recitation and Bao game, she commuted every day to work, and she had dinner once a week with Jelani, Tee, and Sisay. The most notable change was she had the pleasure of waking up every day next to Bucky.

Christmas and Hanukkah came and went with messages from Sam, Nat, and Steve, and they had exchanged gifts in a non-denominational, ‘just because’ and ‘I saw this and thought of you, fashion.’ Now it was New Year's Eve afternoon, and she was sitting outside the hut, working on her latest weaving project, a fairly admirable attempt at something approximating a broadcloth or linen type cloth. Bucky had stepped away to the large tree to take a phone call, and out of the corner of her eye, Maggie could see him talking, his expressions animated. Had he been in possession of both arms, and using a regular phone, Maggie imagined he would be gesticulating with impressive amounts of gusto.

“Excellent news.” He boomed as he walked back up to where she was situated, leaning down and kissing her on the cheek.

“Oh?” She smiled, craning her neck up to look at his face directly.

“Well…” He began conspiratorially. “It is supposed to be a secret. But, I know you don’t like secrets, so here goes.” Bucky took a dramatically large breath before proceeding. “In honor of New Year's Eve, King T’Challa and the head Wakandan astronomers have agreed to give you a personal tour of the Wakandan observatory and even give you a peek through one of their deep-space telescopes.”

“Really?” Maggie couldn’t quash her inner child as she processed what she was hearing. “Like. Really really? Like…for real?”

“For real.” Bucky chuckled.

“Oh my god, Bucky, that’s amazing.” She turned and practically tackled him, embracing him tightly.

“I’m glad you’re excited. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I didn’t want to disappoint you if it fell through.” Bucky explained.

“These types of surprises are acceptable.” She smiled, kissing him quickly, before releasing him from her embrace.

“Good to know.”

“So when do we leave? What’s the dress code? What’s the weather supposed to be like?” A hundred questions and more whizzed in quick succession through her head.

“Dusk, semi-formal, and clear.” He fired back in quick succession.

“You came prepared.” Maggie giggled, kissing him again.

Maggie, for whatever reason, felt utterly giddy about the prospect. She was a colossal astronomy nerd at heart. Ironically, she’d been on her way to the McDonald Observatory when the whole SNAFU had happened back June 2016, and she’d wanted to visit the Wakandan observatory for a more hands-on tour than the Princess has been able to provide.

It had also been a while since they’d been on what could loosely be referred to as a date. Though she supposed that was due in some small part to the fact they’d moved in together. It didn’t mean they weren’t sickeningly romantic and cute with each other. Instead, at the end of the day, they both knew they’d get the chance to eat dinner and fall asleep side by side. It was a familiarity that no longer required much in the way of cause to initiate intimacy, which in its own way was new, wonderful, and exciting.

Tonight, it seemed, would be a break from the new normal.

“So, when should we start getting ready to go?” She asked. “You know me. I could sit out here and do this for hours, I just don’t want to lose track of time, and then rush.”

“We can eat leftovers from lunch, but should start getting ready here in another two to two and a half hours.” He said, leaning down, kissing her neck and cheek. “It looks good.”

“Thanks, I’m getting better, I think. Faster too.”

“It’s not another pot holder, is it?”

“Ha. Ha. You’re hilarious.”

“Love you.” He chuckled, kissing her again, he started to rise.

“James Barnes, come back here, I wasn’t done with you yet.” She laughed, grabbing his scarf, and tilting her head back toward him.

“Okay. Okay.” He laughed, leaning down.

“Love you too,” She grinned, planting quick kisses on his cheek, jaw, and mouth.

They pulled away, Bucky’s eyes watching her before he spoke, “Have I told you how beautiful you are today?”

“I could stand to hear it again,” She smirked.

“You’re beautiful Mags, I have no idea what you see in me,” he said, kissing her forehead.

“Your good looks, charm, and sense of humor, of course,” She fired back, releasing her grip on his scarf. “So, what are you going to do until we start getting ready?”

“Read. I wanted to do a deep dive into the Cold War Space Race.” He explained.

“A fun time. I have movie suggestions for that.”

“I’m sure you do.” He agreed, kissing the top of her head. “Maybe if we get home early, we can watch one.”

“Sounds good.” She smiled, watching as he settled down on a cushion against the hut wall, at the corner of her peripheral vision, and opened up a book and a series of webpages on his Kimoyo bracelet.

The passed the lazy afternoon in comfortable silence, and when Maggie reached a good stopping point, she rose and started getting ready while Bucky reheated the leftovers.

After fussing with her outfit, hair, shoes, and everything in between, she ate dinner while Bucky changed. Then as the sun began to set, they started off to the capital.

“So, are you excited?” Bucky asked as they approached the outskirts of the city.

“I am. How on earth did you manage to convince the King of Wakandan to give us a private tour of his astronomy and deep space facility to us?”

“It was the King’s idea, actually. He wanted to throw us a New Year’s Eve celebration, and the Princess told him that you were interested in the deep space telescope from the last tour you went on.”

“Huh. How considerate of King T’Challa, with his full schedule as the monarch of this country to take time out to show us his deep space telescope,” She said, watching Bucky’s expression closely.

“I thought so too.” Bucky agreed. There wasn’t a tell, wasn’t a twitch, or a single change in his expression as they continued to walk, and deep-seated suspicion settled in the pit of her stomach. Nothing nefarious, but there was a tugging, nagging sensation that something else was at work here.

Maggie sat in her silence, her brain spooling through any number of possible scenarios until, inevitably, they reached the interior of the city. The streets were hustling and bustling as usual now with an unmistakable air of festivity, and part of her relaxed somewhat. They were going to have a lovely evening out. She was going to get a tour of a big powerful telescope, even if Bucky was being a little dodgy about the whole thing.

When they arrived in the lobby, Nakia was there waiting for them. “Ah, Magdalene, James.” She said, greeting them with a smile as they approached. “So glad you could make it.”

“The pleasure is ours.” Maggie paused, glancing around.

“The King had some business come up unexpectedly, but he should be joining us later after the tour for a small New Year’s Eve celebration.” The other woman provided, as if reading her mind (or more likely her confused expression)

“Oh. I hope everything resolves itself favorably.” She said, glancing up at Bucky, whose expression hadn’t changed at all.

_Okay, this isn’t suspicious at all._

But she wouldn’t press it at the moment. Bucky said they were going on a tour of the astronomy lab, and so she’d take him at his word right now until proven wrong.

“Shall we go upstairs? A couple of our top astronomers are setting up the deep space telescope.” Nakia motioned to the lift.

“Sounds good.” Maggie nodded, walking side by side with Nakia, who led the way, Bucky trailing behind.

“How have you both been? It has been a while since we saw each other,” Nakia said brightly as they entered the lift.

“The King’s birthday this year? Wasn’t it?” Maggie pondered, trying to remember the last formal function she and Bucky had attended.

“Yes, though, unfortunately, we were not able to stay long. I trust you enjoyed yourself.”

“Yes.”

“That is wonderful. But the big news I hear is you two moved in together recently,” Nakia continued.

“Yeah. We did.” Maggie blushed, trying to come up with some smart quip about being the gossip of the country, but let the moment pass without further comment.

“Congratulations,” She said. “We are all very happy for you. Ah, here we are.”

The lift opened and they walked out onto the top floor of the Wakandan Royal labs, where two men in white lab coats turned to greet them.

Glancing over her shoulder, Bucky smiled and made the ‘well go on, then’ motion with his head.

“So you must be Magdalene Ramirez,” Thr more senior of the two scientists said. “We hear you’re something of an astronomy enthusiast.”

Maggie glanced at Nakia and then Bucky, who just shrugged. “More a hobbyist with a healthy appreciation for the work professionals do.”

“Well, we cannot tell you _everything_ we’re working on, but we can certainly show you some of our sky map, and give you a look through our deep space telescope.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Then let’s get going.”

They led her around the lab, showing her the equipment, Nakia, and Bucky trailing and watching her as she asked her questions and ooh-ed and aww-ed over their space mapping and images from deep space: swirling galaxies and nebulas, and planets.

For the grand finale, they let her peer through the massive deep space telescope, which she drank in as images of the night sky filtered in through her brain, filling up her whole being.

“Would you like to see this too?” She asked Bucky, who stood by silently observing the whole thing just over her shoulder.

“Sure.” He agreed, leaning to look through the massive display.

Stepping back and away, the magnitude and significance of the whole thing started to bear down, and suddenly, without warning, her stomach dropped, and a feeling of melancholy fell on her like a wet blanket.

Blinking, she dabbed at her eyes, with a slight sniffle.

What was causing all of this? She loved this type of stuff. She loved looking up at the stars, loved the science behind astronomy (though she’d never been very good at math or science in high school). She loved the technology, and the potential, and the idea that there were trillions of other worlds out there, just beyond the human capacity to access. But that wasn’t what was making her tear up like this. Pondering a bit longer, she realized how long she wanted todo this, only now she was with Bucky instead of with Sam and Steve. How long ago all of that was now. How much simpler life had been, when none of them knew that all of this was going to happen.

“What? What is it?” Bucky asked.

She sighed, feeling silly. And it was rather silly, but she wasn’t going to lie or deny that she was feeling mixed emotions about the whole thing. Looking back up through the display, she continued. “I was headed for the McDonald’s Observatory when Sam called and said I should stay low for a while. They were originally supposed to go with me, but had to cancel because of what was going on with the Sokovia Accords, amongst other things,” Maggie grimaced. “I guess I just wish they could’ve gone with me on the road trip, and that we would’ve been able to actually make it to our destination.”

“For what it’s worth, I wish we could’ve too.”

Maggie’s heart stopped, and she turned around to find Sam standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, with a thoughtful but amused expression on his face.

“Sam?” She practically screeched as she ran to him, throwing her whole weight into an enveloping hug.

“Good to see you too,” He chuckled, returning the embrace. “Surprised?”

“Surprised? I’m downright shocked.” Maggie said as she pulled away to examine his face. It was Sam, but looking a little world-weary and tired. He wore a short beard, which was fastidiously trimmed but was a definite change from his normal goatee and mustache. “How are you here?”

“Well, it’s not just me,” Sam glanced over his shoulder behind him, and Maggie’s gaze followed.

“Natasha? Steve!” Maggie let go of Sam and went to the duo who were standing several feet back, watching the scene unfold along with the King who stood even further back, flanked by two Dora Milaje and looking regal in a formal Wakandan style suit. “It’s so good to see you both!” She threw her arms around Natasha’s neck and pulled the other woman into a hug before she realized what she was doing. This _was _Natasha Romanoff she was hugging. The woman wasn’t exactly known for being overly touchy-feely.

However, before she could remove her arms from around Natasha, her stance softened, and chuckling, she returned the embrace, “Good to see you too, Ramirez.”

“I’ve missed you,” Maggie said, letting go of Natasha after a moment.

“Missed me beating you up, you mean?” Natasha raised a playful eyebrow.

“Something like that. Though I suppose I should say thank you, your lessons paid off.”

“You did the hard part,” Natasha said.

“And I didn’t even do it very well.” She answered with a self-deprecating drawl.

“Well enough to stay alive, and that’s what matters,” Natasha said with a coy smile, her eyes flicking momentarily to Steve.

“Steve!” She turned to the man who was standing there awkwardly taking in the scene around him. “It’s so good to see you. These two aren’t giving you a hard time, are they?” She asked, reaching up to give him a hug, which he returned with a tight embrace.

“No worse than usual.” He chuckled, his voice low and mellow.

Stepping back, she took the trio in. They all looked freshly washed and groomed, wearing civvies, they looked both out of place and uncomfortable. How and why they were here, Maggie didn’t know, she was still trying to comprehend being around all of them at once after so long apart.

“It is so good of you to join us,” The King said, breaking the awkward silence. “Please, join us at a reception in honor of the new year.”

So obviously this had all been planed. Maggie could help but wonder who had done the planning and how long this had been in the works. Yet, while her brain spun, she also knew that she aught to say something, rather than just leaving off in silence.

“Thank you again, King T’Challa, for your hospitality. It would be our honor.” Steve said, picking up the slack where everyone else failed to find the right words.

Moving away from the deep space telescope, they walked as a group to one of the adjacent patios, which had been set up for entertaining. There was a drink and hors d'oeuvre station, and cushions and places to sit arranged around the patio.

Falling into step beside Sam, Maggie found herself struggling to compute what she was seeing. Her brain physically incapable of processing that Sam was here. Now. With her in Wakanda. After nearly a year and a half without seeing him, it seemed like she was walking in a daydream.

“You’re here. You’re really here. Like I’m not dreaming, am I?” She managed as they retreated to one of the corner cushions, drinks in hand to talk.

“Do you want me to pinch you? Just to be sure?” Sam suggested with a grin as he took a sip of his drink, settling down on a cushion beside her.

Maggie rolled her eyes but returned his smile. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m good. I just can’t believe you’re here. You’re here in Wakanda with me. How have you been?”

“It’s been interesting on the run. We’re basically doing the same thing back before things went sideways, just now off the grid, on the run, and with a fraction of the resources,” Sam said, taking a long draw from his drink.

Maggie could tell he was doing his best to keep things upbeat and positive, but there was a grim edge to his voice that was hard to ignore.

“Sounds like you could use a vacation.” Maggie said dryly, trying to infuse as much humor and sarcasm as she could possibly muster.

“Well, we all know how well that turned out last time.” Sam chuckled.

“You going on the run as international fugitive and me doing stupid shit just south of the border?”

“When you were working with the Llorona network?” He raised an eyebrow. “I gotta admit, that was one of the most on-brand things I’ve ever heard.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, _Sam?_”

“You were supposed to be laying _low_, and instead decide to get involved in an organization fighting the cartels,” He said. “It seems a bit too on the nose.”

Maggie opened her mouth to protest but stopped. Anything she said in her defense would only prove his point further. She was a certified bleeding heart. It’s what had landed her in this situation. It’s what had started this, all the way back to Last Chance Ranch. Then again, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing, after all.

“I’m just glad you’re all right. Heard it was a close call.” Sam continued when she didn’t respond.

“A little too close for comfort. Though if you’re here to read me the riot act, I think you’re a little late for that to have any effect on me.”

“I don’t have a leg to stand on, Mags. I am proud of you, though.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow.

“We all are. Though Steve and Romanoff will never admit it. You did a brave and selfless thing.”

“Huh,” Maggie said after a moment.

“What?”

“For some reason, I was expecting the words, stupid, ill-advised, dangerous, and batshit to be some of the mainstays of your vocabulary on the matter.”

“We were all just glad you were safe after you dropped off the face of the earth for a bit.”

“Understandable.”

“You did good, kid.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“Thanks, Sammie.” Maggie blushed. 

There was a long pause, and they both took in the scene, Maggie still trying to comprehend how Sam was here at all. Around here, everyone else seemed to be relaxing into the surroundings. Nakia and Natasha were talking, while Bucky and Steve conversed casually with the King.

_Bucky. SHIT. _In all the commotion, she’d been distracted by Sam’s sudden appearance she’d completely abandoned him. Yet, he was chuckling and smiling at something Steve had said, and she felt herself relax a bit.

_That asshole knew. _Everything clicked into place now that her brain had processed and absorbed all of the various bits of information and hints. He’d known, and the lab tour had simply been a diversion to keep her distracted until Sam, Steve, and Nat arrived. Why hadn’t he told her? Why all the secrecy? She didn’t know, and she certainly knew that most of her emotions were overwhelmingly positive. So, rather than looking a gift horse in the mouth, she’d enjoy her time with Sam, and pester Bucky later about the details of the entire plot to keep in her the dark.

Then, as if he’d realized she was watching him, he glanced over his shoulder at her, and they made eye contact. ‘_You okay?’_ His expression asked.

Maggie answered with a slight nod, and he returned it with a nod of his own.

Beside her, Sam cleared his throat, and Maggie turned to find him watching her, a knowing expression on his face.

“What?” She asked, a blush already rising on her cheeks, feeling like she’d just been caught doing something inappropriate by disapproving parents.

“So you and him, huh?” Sam said, taking another long draw from his drink.

“I’m not sure how to respond to that accusation, Samuel Thomas Wilson.” She said.

“Well, for one, it wasn’t an accusation, Magdalene Ignacia Ramirez.” Sam replied, “For two. I just want to make sure I have my facts straight before I say the wrong thing.”

“Ahh, of course.” Maggie nodded with a twisted smile, her face still burning.

“So, you and him?” Sam repeated.

“That is correct.” She confirmed. “You’re not going to give him the shovel talk, are you?”

“The guy did try to kill me, like four times. If I was going to give him a ‘talk,’ I don’t think it would be a ‘shovel’ talk.” Sam answered, giving her a once over. She knew Sam well enough to know that this was all mostly for show, but there was something else at work here, something that he was evaluating. “But he makes you happy?”

“Most of the time.” She answered.

“You love him.”

“Yeah.” She breathed, chancing a glance back at him.

“You know you used to look at Riley like that, and he looked at you just like Barnes just did,” Sam said slowly after a brief pause.

Maggie stopped, turning back to him. There wasn’t anything immediately apparent in his expression. Exhaustion was forefront, but so far as she could tell, he was being serious. Yet, still, she felt surprised at the notion that she could look at anyone the same way she’d looked at Riley, or that Sam would willingly and freely draw a comparison between Bucky and Riley.

What could she say to that? Instead she took Sam’s free hand in hers, lowering her gaze. “I can’t believe he’s been gone five years.” She said softly.

“It feels like a lifetime and yet no time at all,” Sam shook his head, squeezing her hand tight.

“Yeah.” She breathed. What an apt description. Maggie couldn’t help but think about everything that had transpired in those five years, everything that had happened, everything that she’d said to him, and hadn’t said. “Sam?”

“Yeah, Mags?”

Maggie swallowed hard, not sure if she was prepared for what was getting ready to come out of her mouth, but she also knew the life, and knew she might not get another chance to have this conversation. “I’m sorry.” She managed.

Sam furrowed his brow, confusion filling his expression, “for what?”

“For how I treated you after Riley was killed.” Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Maggie charged on. “I was grieving too, I know, but I think part of me expected you to drop everything and come back to New York, to the Ranch. Like somehow, we could and would continue on like Riley was still around. And I was angry, pissed actually, that you wouldn’t even entertain that fantasy. And I was so caught up in my own anger that I didn’t or wouldn’t see that you were going through a lot of shit and needed to take time to grieve and mourn.” Maggie paused a lump formed in her throat. “You were right. About a lot of shit. But most that my inability to grieve and cope was going to blow up in my face.” She said, her thumb rubbing circles on his hand.

There was a beat of silence before Sam spoke, “You okay, Mags?”

Maggie took a deep breath and nodded, glancing up to meet his gaze. “Yeah, actually. Being here meant I was physically incapable of running away from my problems. So I’ve taken some time to put myself back together.”

“And Barnes?” Sam asked, tilting his head in the other man’s direction.

“He was supportive, actually. Continues to be supportive.” Maggie cleared her throat. “So all of that to say, I’m sorry for how I treated you when we were working together to try to find Bucky. I was unfair in how I treated you and behaved toward you. It wasn’t you. I was just angry at my situation, at myself, and as you said, I wasn’t coping.”

Sam nodded slowly, his eyes surveying her with his grim and steady gaze. “Thank you Mags,” He paused, “To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was going to find when we showed up. You weren’t in a good way the last time we saw one another. I’m glad you’ve been working yourself while you’ve been here. And I’m glad you have a supportive partner. It makes me glad you have someone watching your six.” Sam cracked a small smile. “Even if he did try to kill me, like four times.”

“Well, not to make excuses for bad behavior, but he does feel really bad about that, just so you know,” Maggie answered, returning the smile, let go of his hand, wrapping both hands around her drink.

Sam snorted, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Speaking of watching your six. How are you and Steve adjusting to life on the run?” Maggie asked slowly.

“Oh. We. We’re not.” He answered, taking another draw from his glass, his expression growing dark.

“Oh, Sam. I’m sorry. I did-”

“Didn’t want to bring it up. It’s no one’s fault. We’re just taking a break. It’s hard to be in a war zone and in a romantic relationship with your CO. Given our histories with how that’s worked out in the past, it seems like the best option, for both of us, at the moment.”

“Sam?” Maggie murmured, leaning in toward him, her voice low, her brow furrowed.

“It’s okay, Mags. I’m okay. Just some baggage I didn’t think it’d have to unpack again.” Sam said.

Maggie paused, surveying Sam. What had happened that had made them decide a break was best? Had something triggered Sam? She didn’t know. What she did know is if they _hadn’t_ been at a party in front of everyone, or if this hadn’t been the first time she’d seen him in over a year and a half, or if this had literally been any other situation she might have pushed, or taken him off to the side to try to get him to talk it out with her. Instead, she set her drink down and pulled him into a hug. He returned it, leaning into her embrace, and slowly exhaled a long breath. “Thank you.” He said softly into her ear. “You’re a good person, Mags.”

“You’re a better person, Sam, and if there is anything I can do…just say the word.” She answered as they pulled apart.

“Thanks.” He took a sip of his drink, clearing his throat. “Who knows, when this is all over maybe we can retire and start a farm together.”

“A bucolic daydream, Samuel Wilson?” Maggie grinned, trying her best not to sound too worried or concerned about Sam. It felt like the old days, watching Sam and Riley through a screen from the other side of the world, with time so limited they didn’t want to spoil it with all the heavy, horrible things that were going on just in the background behind them.

“I mean, that’s worked for you and Barnes so far.”

“Well, when you and the others are ready, we can look into some real estate, maybe we could start a commune.”

“The cult kind or free love kind?” Sam asked with animated skepticism.

Maggie laughed, throwing her head back, “I’ll let you fill in those blanks whichever way you want, Sammie.”

Sam shook his head, still chuckling as he took another drink. He sighed, leaning back into the cushions, “But you’re happy here? You _look_ happy.”

“I am happy.” She answered, “Happier than I’ve been in a really really long time.”

“That’s good.” Sam nodded, glancing around. “Tell me.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything. I could use a few good stories from a good friend back home.”

“Well. I’m not sure I’d call this place home.” She said, “but I take your point. You just want me to start at the beginning of all of this?”

“Juarez?”

“I was thinking that last phone call just outside of Tulsa.”

“Well, I for one would love to know how managed to get ‘illegally cross the border under a fake name, and fight the cartels’ out of ‘lay low.’”

Maggie snorted but nodded. “Okay, fair. Fair. But you should buckle up. It’s one hell of a ride.”

“That sounds exactly like my kind of story.”

-

Bucky stood back at a distance and watched as the scene unfolded. The sound of pure delight, excitement, and surprise that Mags had made when she saw Wilson made it difficult for Bucky to keep a neutral expression.

He was glad to see that his subterfuge has paid off. Not that Bucky had intentionally wanted to deceive Mags, but even this afternoon, it had been unclear if Steve, Wilson, and Tasha were going to be able to make it. Fortunately, for everyone, it had.

So now that everyone was assembled, Bucky took in the sights of the evening. Mags and Wilson were catching up, chatting in hushed tones in a corner, while The King, Nakia, and Steve were having a complicated in-depth discussion about something Bucky wanted no part of. So instead, he walked over to the balcony overlooking the Wakandan plains, aware as a familiar presence crept into his periphery. He’d rather hoped that he might get this chance, tonight, but now that it was happening he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what might come next.

“What are you doing over here all by yourself?” Natasha asked as she settled comfortably into the space beside him at the handrail.

Bucky had to stop a small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Waiting for you to join me.”

“I see,” She nodded, taking a sip of her drink.

“How have you been?” He ventured uncertainly.

“Busy. Keeping them out of trouble,” She motioned over her shoulder with a slight tip of her head.

“Sounds like a full-time job.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“I heard you went off the grid for a bit.” Bucky continued.

“I did.” She conceded. “I went back. Saw some old friends.”

At this, Bucky turned to her, but as he opened his mouth to speak, She cut him off. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Besides, you were busy.”

“Herding goats.”

“Putting yourself back together. After everything, you deserve that.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t pity in her voice exactly, but there was a deep, intimate knowing to her tone. She knew what Hydra had done to him. She’d been on the receiving end of all that Hydra was capable of. What was worse was that he’d played an instrumental role in both her training and displaying the full force of what he and Hydra were capable of for those who absconded. “I’m sorry.” He said slowly, knowing that it could hardly begin to cover the depths of what had happened to her because o him.

“For?”

“Odessa, D.C., Berlin, Leipzig. To name a few.”

“It was business. I understand that.” Natasha paused, a moment of uncertainty crossing her expression before steeled resolve took its place. “I’m sorry that I got out, and you didn’t.”

Bucky nodded.

“I looked for you. Tried to track you down.”

“You helped Steve and Mags track me down, too, after D.C.”

A coy smile curled at her lips, and an eyebrow quirked in playful curiosity. “So, she’s Mags, huh?”

“What?” He asked, furrowing his brow he surveyed her with uncertainty.

“I’ve only ever heard Sam refer to her as Mags. You two must be close.” Her smile widened as he felt a blush burn at the tips of his ears. “She’s one of a kind.” Natasha continued, her tone serious now. She glanced over her shoulder, and Bucky’s gaze followed. Sam and Mags were sitting together, Sam listening intently to some story she was telling with great enthusiasm. Her expressions were exaggerated as her hands gesticulated with the rise and fall of her voice.

“She is,” Bucky agreed..

“She’s connected to the world, to people, to her humanity in a way that I really didn’t think possible.” She said, returning her gaze to the vast horizon that spread out before them. “She sees the good in people in the way others don’t.”

“Is that why you trained her? Taught her the ropes?” He asked.

“She was dumped into the deep end. I figured someone needed to fish her out,” Natasha answered.

Bucky knew he wouldn’t get a further explanation. It was Natasha’s way, blunt and to the point. However, her decision to help Mags when it was clear she needed it spoke volumes about what Natasha thought of her. But also to Natasha’s character as well. “Thank you, Tasha. For doing that.” Bucky murmured after a moment.

“She’s a good person. Better than we deserve.” She shook her head. “We don’t get to hold onto people like that forever.”

“I know.”

Natasha nodded, “I know you do.”

Now was his chance. Now was his opportunity to tell her what he knew he need to tell her. He remembered her, he remember them, and Bucky knew if he didn’t tell her now, he might not get that chance again. After all that Natasha had done for Steve and for Mags, it was the very least he could do. “Tasha. About _us._” He began but stopped as she turned to him.

“Always, James.” She replied. Reaching over, she brushed some hair away from his face, a sad smile momentarily eclipsing her normally so masked expression. “Always.”

Bucky relaxed slightly. So she _did_ know. Of course she did. And while Bucky had rather hoped they might get more closure, more assurance than _that_, he knew, that was all that was going to be said. All that ultimately needed to be said, more felt and understood than verbalized. They cared for each other, loved each other, and always would, regardless of circumstances, in a way undefinable to anyone besides them.

“Come on.” Nat smiled, “Let’s get back to the party; there’s no reason for you to be sulking over here alone.”

“Force of habit.”

“Let's try to break you of that then, shall we?” She said, leading the way back toward the corner where Wilson and Mags were still talking.

“I’m going to grab another drink. I’ll be right there.”

He headed to the bar and watched as Wilson excused himself from the conversation he was having with Mags and Natasha and slowly make his way over to the bar where he was standing.

Bucky tensed as Wilson approached and settling beside him, the air thick with anticipation as they both waited for the other person to make the first move.

“Hey man, long time no see.” Wilson began.

“About the last time—” Bucky cut himself off, unsure of what he was even going to say.

“The time you saved my ass from Spider Kid, boy, thing, or the time before that?” Wilson immediately countered, raising an eyebrow as he finished off his drink before ordering another from the bartender.

“I wanted to say thank you. I know what it cost you.” It felt inadequate, but as the other man surveyed him, Bucky knew that Wilson had accepted it.

“Would it make you feel better or worse to know that I didn’t do it for you or Steve?” He asked slowly.

“Oh.”

“I mean, appreciate the gratitude, don’t get me wrong, but I know a shit situation when I see one. I couldn’t let it stand, regardless of who it was.” Wilson paused as his drink was passed across the bar, “But. I could be a disagreeable asshole if that would make the situation more palatable for you.”

“Whatever you wanna do,” Bucky shook his head, ordering a drink. He waited, watching Wilson in his periphery.

Why was he lingering? Did he expect him to say something? What was there to be said? Unless…of course, he was going to say something about Mags. He could imagine the plethora of warnings or threats that someone like Sam Wilson could level against him. Wilson knew first hand what he was capable of. Bucky also knew that Mags was one of Wilson’s oldest and possibly best friends. It could lead to a tense situation.

“Mags told me about everything you’ve done for her.” Wilson began. This time as he spoke, there was hesitance. “It was more than I could ever get her to do for herself. So I think we can call it even.”

“Even?” Bucky echoed. “I _did_ try to kill you like five times.” Bucky blurted out, immediately feeling like a total ass for bringing that up, even if it was relevant to their current situation.

“I was wondering if you were going to bring that up.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“The way I understand it, you didn’t exactly have much of say,” Wilson replied. “And when you did, you had my six.”

Bucky nodded. It was a relief to hear that’s what he thought. Yet, Bucky still found himself waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Plus, you happen to be in a relationship with one of my oldest friends. Mags doesn’t just let anyone in unless they’re worth it,” Wilson leveled his gaze on him. “Just don’t make her a liar.”

“I don’t plan to.”

“Probably not.” He shrugged, pausing he glanced behind him at the assembled group. “But between you and me, I’d probably be only the fourth or fifth person in line to kick your ass if you did.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

“I’m sure you will.” Wilson paused, “Thank you for suggesting we do this. It’s nice to take a break,” His eyes flicked over to where Mags and the others were sitting. “Good to see her again after everything.”

Bucky could only imagine. Between Underdahl’s death, The Ranch burning to the ground, their search for him, and then the whole situation with Sokovia Accords and subsequent fall out, Wilson and Mags’s relationship had been fraught with hardship. He was only glad that he’d asked The king if this was at all possible, and that steps had been taken to ensure this party could come to fruition.

“What are you two weirdos over there gossiping about?” Mags’s voice cut into their conversation as it crossed the courtyard. Wilson chuckled. “Come over here, both of you, we’re going to take a selfie!” She waved them over.

“After you,” Wilson motioned and Bucky nodded.

Walking over to the group, Wilson just behind, Bucky found that he felt…well uneasy wasn’t quite the right word, but off-kilter. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected going into the evening. He’d sort of just assumed that Wilson and Mags would spend the evening catching up, and that Wilson wouldn’t really pay any attention to him. So their conversation had been both unexpected and also the best-case scenario for how any interaction could’ve gone between them, all things considered.

Bright peals of laughter and giggling punctured the his thoughts, as he, Mags, Steve, Tasha, and Wilson gathered close to squeeze into the frame for Mags to take a selfie with her Kimoyo bracelet. After a moment, Nakia came over and took the photo for them, but not before Mags insisted that King and Nakia also posed for a group shot. Somehow they managed to take a couple decent photographs without dissolving into downright hysterics, and eventually, they settled back down and resumed talking.

Mags was at the center of it all, of course, she always was. She was glowing, like she had been so long ago at that party on Last Chance, spreading and sharing her light with those around her. Only now, it seemed that there was an inner joy, an inner happiness. This wasn’t a show she was putting on for the comfort and wellbeing of others. There was a genuine delight in her expression, her voice animated and bright, her cheeks rosy from the warmth of the night air, and the alcohol she was drinking. Her long dark hair was pulled back away from her face now but secured still with the combs he’d purchased for her back last summer.

As he admired her beauty, Bucky couldn’t help but think of what both Wilson and Tasha had told him, in not so many words. She was special, and he needed to appreciate her while he could. _We don’t get to keep people like her very long._

Then, his gaze went from Mags to Tasha, who was sitting at her right, elbow propped on her knee, chin in hand listening to some anecdote Mags was telling. Tasha was hardly the young woman he’d met and trained so long ago in the Red Room. She was still beautiful and strong as ever, yet now there was a tempered kindness in her smile, a choice, a conscious decision to find beauty and kindness, and genuine happiness in the world after she had been trained to be nothing more than a killer.

To Mags’s left side was Sam Wilson. Though he knew the man far less than the others outside of a combat setting, Bucky could see an inner warmth that radiated through his serious exterior. This man, a soldier, pararescue, with no medical modifications or serum taking on the best of them and winning. He was a strong and brave soul, certainly strong and courageous enough to deal with all of Steve’s bullshit. Bucky could see a tender gentleness in his dark eyes and a playful mischief in his smile. His eyes shone bright as he joined in with Mags’s story, his laugh full and boisterous, making his chest heave.

Is this whatUnderdahl had seen in Wilson? Is this what Steve saw in him? He didn’t know, but he could certainly appreciate the view. His eyes then turned to Steve, who was sitting some distance away, watching the scene unfold.

_Steve._ Bucky could still see the shadows of the man he’d known way back in 1942, that last night at the Science Expo.There was still the same stern brow and bright eyes, the same determined set of the jaw. There was exhaustion there too. There had always been exhaustion around his eyes and in the stoop of his shoulders. Back then, it had been the weight of poverty, illness, and long days at the factory. Although the signs of malnutrition and poor health had been swept away thanks to the Super Soldier Serum, there was now the weight of the world was on the man’s broad’s shoulders, threatening to crush him at the first misstep.

_I should be helping him with all of this I should be doing something—_

His thought was cut off by the sound of Nakia laughing, and the King’s dignified but certainly amused chuckle. They were holding hands and casting quick but meaningful glances at one another. It was strange to see both of them looking so _relaxed._ If he didn’t know who they were, he might have allowed his gaze to linger longer on them both, but adverting his eyes, he allowed them their privacy, his gaze wandering back to Mags, and the rest of the assembled company.

Two years ago he’d been in Romania, two years ago he’d been on the run. What a difference two years could make. How much had changed for this gathering to even be possible.

It wouldn’t last. There was no way for this to last. But it was beautiful and perfect and completely unconventional, and how amazing that he was alive and aware enough to be capable of enjoying these precious moments of absolute peace.

Then. Steve’s phone beeped, and like that, the spell was broken. “Excuse me.” He said, rising and walked back inside the King following after him.

Once they’d gone, the conversation resumed though it was subdued now. They were all preparing for what was going to come next. Wilson was finishing his drink, Mag’s wringing her hands, while Tasha sat upright, straightening her spine, her posture rigid.

Then, after a minute that dragged on like a millennium, Steve reappeared. While his body language had bee approaching relaxed and open, it was now rigid and tense. “Sorry to cut the evening short, but I--we have to leave.” He said, addressing Nakia, before glancing over at Mags, and then meeting his gaze.

“We won’t keep you,” Mags said as they all rose to their feet, still wringing her hands, her expression closed, a stark contrast to what it had been only a moment before.

“Thank you, your highness, for your hospitality.”

“Of course.” The King nodded. “Let us walk you back to your aircraft.”

“We’ll go with you too. It’s getting late, and Bucky and I should probably head back.” Mags interjected, glancing over at him. It would buy them a few more minutes to say goodbye, and she wasn’t wrong, it was getting late.

“Yeah. We can all leave together,” Bucky agreed.

“Thank you, King T’Challa, for your gracious hospitality, and the tour of your astronomy facilities,” Mags said in somewhat passable Wakandan, bobbing her head to both the King and Nakia.

“Our pleasure,” Nakia answered with a graceful smile.

“Let us walk down together,” The King motioned, and they all moved as a group to the lift.

The King moved to the head of the group, flanked by the two Dora Milaje, followed by Steve and Natasha, then Mags and Wilson, with Nakia and him bringing up the rear. Filing into the lift, they stood in silence, nothing but the sound of the collected inhale and exhale of breath, and their private thoughts filling the space.

What was going on? What had happened that required their immediate attention? Bucky didn’t know, and Steve didn’t look like he was going to say. And what could Bucky do about it _anyway_?

About halfway down to ground level, there was a swell of murmers. Mags and Sam were whispering back and forth, while Tasha, Steve, and the King were discussing something or another about trajectory and tactics.

He felt useless in the middle of it all, out of place, where he didn’t quite fit in either world. “They are all very busy, aren’t they?” Nakia murmured in Wakandan as if somehow reading his mind. “But we both know that sometimes it is best to be still, and silent, and wait for the right moment.”

Bucky nodded with a heavy sigh, and Nakia returned the nod.

They didn’t know one another very well and had only interacted a handful of times. But Bucky still felt a tremendous amount of respect for her, both her position as an intelligence officer and the King’s partner, but also as an individual. She was someone who, much like him, had worked in the shadow for most of her career. _Best to be still and silent and wait for the right moment._

So she was right. This wasn’t the right moment. Not yet.

The lift stopped, and they excited on the ground floor. Walking out into the cool night air, there was a collective sigh as the wind swept over them, blowing the growing tension and anxiety away, allowing them a moment of relative peace before the team’s departure.

“This is where we will leave you, safe travels to where you are going, and a happy new year to you all,” The King said as they reached the quinjet.

“Thank you, your highness.” Steve nodded graciously. “As always, thank you for everything.”

“Of course. Good night.” He nodded in response, turning to each individual in turn and repeating the gesture.

Then, extending his arm to Nakia, he, the Dora Milaje, and Nakia disappeared back toward the palace without another word, leaving the rest of them standing on the tarmack.

“It was so good to see you all,” Mags said, breaking the silence first, she hugged Steve and Natasha quickly, before hugging Wilson last, squeezing him so tight, Bucky was almost sure she was trying to strangle him. “Be safe.” He heard her murmur but looked away as Wilson whispered something in her ear in response, holding her close.

They released each other, stepping back and away, there was an uncertain pause as they each surveyed one another.

“Be good, you two.” Natasha smiled, glancing between him and Mags.

“We’ll do our best,” Mags answered with a chuckle, though Bucky could hear the lump in her throat.

“Let’s go get this crate ready for take-off,” She motioned to Wilson, who nodded, casting a final glance back at Mags before following after.

Then Bucky’s eyes fell on Steve, who was standing back a way, surveying, taking in the scene in silent watchfulness as he always did. “It was good to see you, Buck,” Steve said as they went in for a hug. “I’m sorry we didn’t have more time.”

“It’s the life,” He answered, “Be safe out there. Try not to do anything stupid while I’m not around.”

“No promises,” Steve chuckled with a heavy sigh, practically melting into him, nuzzling his head at the base of his neck.

“Punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve answered, stepping back and glancing over his shoulder as the quinjet engines roared to life.

There was so much he wanted to say, so much that should be said, needed to be said, yet all Steve could manage was, “Happy New Year, Buck.”

“You too.”

“Don’t worry too much, I’ll keep him out of trouble while you’re away,” Mags said, reinserting herself into their surroundings she slipped her hand into his, giving it three gentle squeezes.

“You be good too,” Steve said firmly.

“I can make no promises there,” She smiled.

Then, before Steve could turn to walk away, Mags grabbed Steve’s hand with her other hand and pulled them together in a big hug.

Why was this so hard? Of all the times Steve had left before, why was this the most difficult? Bucky didn’t have an answer. It was only made worse by the nagging sensation that he should be going with them.

Eventually, they pulled apart, and without another word, Steve nodded, and walked up the ramp of the quinjet, casting a final glance over his shoulder as the rear door closed behind him.

_I should be going with them. They’re only in that situation right now because of me._ The thought hit him hard, and he knew if he contemplated it too long, it might rip him in half completely.

Mags took a few steps away from the quinjet, pulling him along with her, and out of harm’s way, they watched as it took off and disappeared into the night sky.

Even once it had, Bucky stood still, his neck craned, head up, feeling small under the expansive night sky. “You going to be okay?”

He turned to find Mags was watching him, her expression decidedly neutral, with the barest hint of the light that had been shining from her what was only minutes ago. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

“It’s tough watching them go.” She said, her gaze drifting over the trajectory of the quinjet. “Hard knowing that they’re going back out there, but I think it’s worse knowing there’s nothing you can do to keep them safe,” Mags glanced back at him. “Sorry.” She added, “Not helping.”

“You have more experience at this than I do.”

“If I’m honest, I don’t think it ever gets easier. You just sort of learn to live with it. That worry in the back of your head, and pray they make it back to you.”

“I’m sorry,” He said. ‘_That I’m going to put you through that one day,’ _He didn’t say.

She didn’t say anything, something crossing her face. Was it sadness? Was it regret? He couldn’t quite say. They stood in silence a long moment, before she spoke again. “Come on, it’s getting late we should start back,” Mags motioned, Bucky nodded, and they started in the direction of home.

“So, did you have a good time?” Bucky ventured as they left the city and started into the gently rolling hills just beyond.

“I did. Steve told me that you organized all of that. Thank you so much for everything, the observatory tour was amazing, and it was absolutely wonderful to see Sam, Nat, and of course, Steve.”

“I’m glad. You’re not too angry about me keeping that a secret from you, are you?”

“No. This was a good surprise.” She answered with a smile. “Just try not to make a habit of it, okay, Barnes?”

“I’ll do my best, Ramirez.”

“You better.” She laughed.

“I’m just glad you got to see Wilson.”

“And I’m glad you got to see Nat and Steve.” Mags paused, looking up at him. “I saw you got a chance to talk to Nat.”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“Did you tell her you love her?”

“In not so many words.” Bucky answered slowly, “Why?”

“Because she deserves to hear that after everything you still care for her,” Mags answered without so much as skipping a beat. “She’s also good people. She likes to pretend that she’s not, but she is.”

Bucky marveled at her a moment before he spoke, “You really do see the best in people.

“I just see people. What they do tells me if they’re good or not.” She shrugged.

“You’re magnificent, Magdalene,” Bucky said, leaning over he kissed the top of her head.

“You’re wonderful yourself, James Barnes.” Mags smiled. “I hope Sam didn’t give you a hard time. He did tell me he wouldn’t give you a shovel talk.”

“He was a man of his word, and was perhaps a bit too generous,” Bucky admitted, still feeling a little bit uncertain about where he stood with Wilson.

“He doesn’t hate you, Bucky. He was even joking about joining a commune when he, Steve, and Nat retire.” She said.

“When we buy the farm?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Ha. Ha.” She laughed dryly, “Not like that.”

“I know. I know.” Bucky chuckled. “But my point stands, Wilson is a good man. He doesn’t deserve Steve.”

“Oh. You mean Steve didn’t—” Mags cut herself off.

“What did Steve do?”

“Nothing. I mean, I don’t think anything happened, Sam didn’t exactly give details, just that they were taking a break.” She said.

“Leave it to Steve to mess up a good thing.” Bucky grimaced. He could only imagine what it had taken for Wilson to finally say enough.

At this, Maggie shook her head. “What?” Bucky frowned.

“Going to take Sam’s side on this whole thing? That hardly seems fair to either man.”

“I know what Steve can be like.”

“Well. I try not to make it my business. I’m not in a relationship with either man, so it’s not my place or business unless Sam decides to make it my business.” She said. “All I know is, everyone, brings old baggage into new relationships. You and I have both been trying to unpack all of our past traumas and relationships since we’ve been here. I know for me personally it would feel practically impossible to do so under threat of fire 24/7.”

Bucky nodded, “he’s a good man. He didn’t deserve to get wrapped up all of this shit because of me. Neither of you did.”

“He is a good man, and he only could’ve done what he did because he’s a good man.” She answered.

Bucky paused,“Do you love him?”

“Yes,” She answered firmly. “It was hard to lose him after Riley died. I’ve missed having him around since we’ve been here.” She stopped walking and rose on the balls of her feet, planting a firm kiss on his cheek. “Seeing him today meant more to me than I could ever say. Thank you, Bucky.”

“Always,” he answered, kissing her forehead. “I’m glad I could do that for you for both of you.”

Mags nodded, squeezing his hand three times. “Come on. We should get back home before it gets too much later.”

The sounds of the night swept in around them with the cool breeze over the plains, and they traversed the gently sloping terrain with ease and in silence, both caught in their own mental worlds. The visit had been too brief, but Bucky could see the good it had done Mags to see Wilson after so long, the good it had frankly done all of them to see each other. Overall, it had been a good way to end the year and start the new one.

_Well, nearly start the old one. _He amended. It wasn’t quite the new year yet, but it certainly was a good start to 2018, and after everything the last three had brought he could only hope that 2018 would be a quiet one.

There was a popping noise, followed by a loud boom, and Bucky tensed, his brain kicking into high gear as his body prepared to shield mags and defend himself until he noticed that Mags was pointing looking skyward. “Look, Bucky, fireworks!”

He exhaled as a magnificent bloom of color, and light rose over the city in elaborate designs. “Fireworks, right,” he breathed.

“Scared me too.” She said, glancing over at him. “It must mean it’s midnight.”

“So it is.” He agreed, surveying her face in the light of the stars, moon, and now the glow of fireworks.

“Maybe next year the others will be able to stay longer.” Mags commented with a heavy sigh, turning to him.

“With any luck.” Bucky paused, a small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Here’s looking at you kid.”

“No. Here’s looking at _you, _James Barnes.” She countered, twining her arms around his neck, her eyes locked with his, a warm smile spread across her face with an adoring expression.

“Happy New Year, Magdalene Ramirez,” He said softly.

“Happy New Year, James Barnes.” She answered, and they kissed there, in the dark, the sky illuminated by a hundred blossoming fireworks overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope all of you enjoyed! It was fun getting the crew back together for a chapter for a bit of a nice celebration. It was fun having all of them interact (especially Sam and Bucky!). I hope you and yours are well! It was my birthday August 13 (Along with the man himself Mr. Sebastian Stan), so I hope you will all consider this my gift to you! Only a few more chapters left in part three until we're on to part four! It's been a wild ride, and I hope you continued on the journey with me.
> 
> Until Next Time, Happy Reading!


	28. Get your Battle Rattle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> TW: Racial slur used in passing.
> 
> Recommended Listening: Come What May from Moulin Rouge Soundtrack; Please Don’t Tell me How the Story Ends (ft. Rosanne Cash) by Willie Nelson; Love in the Dark by Jessie Reyez; The Way You Look Tonight by Fred Astaire
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=G2cFR0uUSKOG_lk2zTDDFw

Time moved as it often did, slowly and all at once, and Bucky once again found himself walking hand-in-hand with Mags up to the lab for a final fitting. This was going to be the big one. He and the Princess had been working on and off for months on the final design for his prosthesis. Now it was time to put all of that to the test in a practical simulation. Meaning he and King T’Challa were sparring today to test the dexterity, strength, speed, and overall performance of the prosthesis.

He was fortunate and thankful that the King had agreed to spar with him, and ultimately, Bucky knew, this practical simulation was essential for the success of the prosthesis, both in its final design, as well as with his personal comfort level wearing the cybernetic limb.

But, as with most things, Bucky had mixed emotions about the whole thing.

On the one had it was reassuring to know that the arm was complete, or near to it, so that he would be capable of helping Steve and the others, should a situation arise. New Year’s Eve Bucky hadn’t liked watching Steve, Nat, and Wilson charging off into some danger and being unable to help. He hadn’t liked how exhausted they all where, while he was well rested and comfortable. He didn’t like watching other’s pay the price for helping him. This final test would change that. It would enable him to chose, how, when, and why he returned to the fight. It would give him the option to return the front, wherever that might be, and work to undo all that he’d done through Hydra as the Winter Soldier.

Yet, on the other hand, Bucky knew there was a cost to returning to the front. A _cost_ to putting the arm back on and taking up the mantel of the Winter Soldier again. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to have to leave the life he’d created with Mags. 

He wanted choice. He’d always wanted choice. That’s what the arm was now. A choice. An option. Now, Bucky also knew there was a cost to that choice.

Bucky glanced over at Mags, who walked beside him, hand-in-hand, head and eyes forward as they wound through the city streets. It was mid-afternoon, the sun was hot and bearing down on them, and the streets were crowded, so they hadn’t talked much as they traversed the familiar path.

Now, he was trying to find something to say, if just to fill the widening void of silence between them.

New Year's Eve had been very informative to both his desire to go with the others to protect those he cared about, but also what it meant to stay behind and watch others charge into danger. He’d watched Steve leave before, but for whatever reason, it had really hit him hard watching Steve, Nat, and Wilson leave on New Years' Eve. It had been hard to say goodbye. It had been even more difficult to watch Mags say goodbye to Wilson after a year and a half of separation. It hurt, but it had hurt more to hear from Mags that you never really got used to saying goodbye to people you knew were headed into danger. That feeling of utter helplessness, knowing that their safety was out of your control.

He knew that he was going to have to hurt Mags like that. He would have to say goodbye, and she would have to stand there and wish him off and deal with the consequences of a choice, his choice.

Bucky felt he should apologize, preemptively and continuously, if necessary, for what would eventually come for them both. Yet, he also didn’t want to draw attention to what they both were keenly aware of. Even now, as they approached the final test, Bucky knew there was tension. He knew Mags wanted to be supportive. She had adamantly insisted she wanted to come to watch, which Bucky was tremendously appreciative of. He also knew that Mags was keenly in tune with what the arm meant to him and their situation.

It was a difficult situation, but one that they now had no choice but to see through to whatever end life brought them.

“You okay?” Mags asked, gently breaking the silence as they wove through the crowded streets.

“Yeah, you?”

“I’m good,” She shrugged.

Bucky nodded. He could hear the forced casualness in her tone. “Thank you for coming with me. I know this hasn’t been the easiest process for you. For either of us.” He said slowly.

She swallowed hard, nodding. “It hasn’t been an easy process, but it’s one I’m glad it’s one that you’ve chosen to share with me.” She paused as they stopped on the sidewalk just outside the lab’s lobby. “Thank you for trusting me to come with you on this journey.” Mags smiled at him, squeezing his hand three times.

“I love you too, Mags.” He answered.

There was a long pause as they both surveyed the doors they were getting ready to enter. “You ready for this”

“Yeah. You?”

“Thinking of how I could possibly convince you to make a run for it.” She teased.

Bucky chuckled. “Even with only one arm, I think we’d have a shot if we went on the run _together._”

“You’d never forgive yourself.” She answered firmly.

He knew she was right, of course. If they made a run for it now, if they avoided this appointment, and didn’t finish all the tests necessary for a functional prosthesis, and then there was a situation where Steve needed him, where the world needed him and he wasn’t ready, he would regret it, likely for the rest of his life.

“This’ll be good,” Mags said with a heavy sigh and a small smile.

“This is necessary.” He answered firmly.

They both nodded, and with a single, collective, deep breath, they proceeded into the downstairs lobby where they were met by the Princess Shuri, who greeted them warmly before she ushered them into the lift down to her lab.

_This is just like every other appointment you’ve had. This is just like any other test you’ve undergone. _Bucky repeated like a mantra in his head as his mind moved from one thing to another. Now that they were here, he had to get through with the appointment. It was too late to run now.

Was it the arm he was concerned about seeing for the first time, or was it fighting King T’Challa? Both offered their own set of challenges and complications.

_Would it have been better to fight Steve or Tasha?_

No. He _knew_ that was a bad idea. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but instinctively he knew that trying to get Steve to fight him without holding back, even for a test, would have ended badly. It was the same with Natasha, whom he’d trained. While he knew she was capable of holding her own, there was no way to tell what would happen in the rink.

King T’Challa was the best option. They’d fought one another before, though in _vastly_ different circumstances, and knew what the other was capable of without the baggage of an extensive and complicated history. At least that’s how Bucky was going to approach this entire situation, how the King saw all of this was another mystery altogether.

“So, how is this going to work?” Bucky asked as they stepped off the lift and walked toward The Princess’s usual workstation.

“We will get you outfitted and attach sensors to your chest and the prosthesis so that I can get all the necessary readings.” She explained before a smile widened on her expression as they saw the King and Okoye waiting for them at the work station. “Ah! Brother! Glad you made it on time.”

“I _am _capable of keeping my appointments, little sister.” He said warmly with a wide grin, glancing up at him and Mags. “Barnes, Magdalene, a pleasure to see you again.” He said, extending his hand to Bucky.

“Thank you, your highness, for agreeing to do this,” Bucky said, taking the King’s hand and shaking it.

“If you are going to be wearing Wakandan technology, it is my prerogative to make sure it works properly,” He answered, releasing his hand. “Okoye will be in the rink with us, and Princess Shuri will be in the observation booth above collecting her data, as a safety precaution.”

_In case I’m triggered. _He appreciated that the King hadn’t spelled it out explicitly, but that had been weighing silently on his mind. Bucky knew it was a remote possibility, and that the Princess was going to place sensors to collect data, but also keep an eye out for anything unusual in his brain activity.

“It is appreciated.”

“And you will be watching from the observation booth too, Magdalene?” The King inquired, turning to Mags.

“Yes. Your sister and Bucky were kind enough to invite me along. I look forward to seeing what The Princess has worked up.” Mags nodded with a small, polite smile.

“Very good.” He nodded, “If you would both excuse me a moment.”

When the King and Okoye had gone, the Princess turned to him. “Are you ready to see what I’ve created for you?” The Princess asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Bucky answered as he sat down on the workbench and pulled his scarf over his head.

Mags moved with him, remaining at his left side, wordlessly taking the scarf from him, as well as the nub cap and shirt. When he was naked from the waist up, the Princess produced a stylized, ornamented metal carrying case. Setting it on the table to his right, she opened the case, the closures releasing with a loud click.

Then, without ceremony, she pushed back the lid to reveal was lay inside. There on a plush cushion was his prosthesis.

Just as they’d discussed, it looked nothing like the one Hydra had outfitted him with. They’d done a lot of research and had several very long discussions about what the final look should be. After much debate, they’d decided to take some inspiration from Kintsugi, a Japanese method of porcelain repair done with gold. And like a true artist and craftsman, the Princess had delivered.

The arm was vibranium, making it a tenth of the weight of his original. It was cast in a black variation of the metal and the joints of the prosthesis were seamed with gold, giving the appearance of gold filling cracked black porcelain—an illusion of course, but still a potent metaphor. The Princess had removed the programming so he could start to heal his mind, and now she was gifting him this prosthesis through which he could remake himself and work to undo all that he had done with Hydra.

Tearing away his eyes from the prosthesis, he glanced over at Mags, who, to his surprise, was watching him, rather than looking at the prosthesis in its case. He opened his mouth to ask if she was okay when the Princess spoke again, “The attachment mechanism is exactly the same as the one I sent you home with. Will you need any help attaching it?”

Bucky paused, glancing between the Princess and Mags, who were both watching him closely.

_What did she see? _He couldn’t help but wonder. Did she see a scared and frightened man? He didn’t feel afraid, he felt resolute, though perhaps even resigned. But maybe that was all in the eye of the beholder. “Will you help me, Mags?” He asked softly.

Back at the beginning of this process, he never would’ve asked, wouldn’t have dreamed of it, he hadn’t even wanted her to see him take it off or put it on. Now he couldn’t imagine anyone else helping him with this. He was glad she was here.

“Yes.” She nodded, her voice firm but soft, moving from his left side to directly in front of him.

The Princess stepped away to give them space and privacy, but Mag stood tall, her expression firm and focused as she watched him, waiting for her cue.

“Okay. You know the drill,” he commented casually as he removed the prosthesis from its case with his right hand, and it extended it to her outstretched hands.

Mags took it, steadying the forearm and elbow in both hands while he moved to attach the coupling mechanism and lock it in place. The familiar and still disconcerting buzzing sensation came and went, and Mags released the prosthesis and stepped back as it came to life, watching as he flexed the hand of the hand experimentally. “So?” She asked gently.

“All right and collect.” He said with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Good. I’m glad.” She reached in and kissed his forehead before quickly moving away to allow the Princess to inspect her handy work.

“So, what do you think, Barnes?” The Princess asked, reappearing with a tray of clear, gel looking sensors.

“It’s beautiful Princess, thank you, but I reserve final judgment until after I’ve gone a few rounds with it on.” He answered as The King reemerged shirtless and wearing a pair of loose trousers, and leather boots.

“So, what do you think of my sister’s latest technological marvel.” The King inquired as he slid up onto the workbench beside him, another lab tech moved in with another tray of sensors.

“Jury is still out.” The Princess answered, moving in. “These are going to be a little cold, but they are water-resistant and sweatproof.”

He nodded, and she applied them all over his chest and arms, moving quickly while the other attendant did the same with the King.

Stepping back to admire her work, the Princess nodded, “All right, you’re both done, tap my wrist with your Kimoyo bracelets.”

Doing as instructed, his bracelet buzzed on his wrist, and both he and the King stood up.

“Are we ready, Barnes?” The King asked.

“As ready as I’m ever going to be.” He answered with a nod.

“You and my brother will go with Okoye to the testing rink, while Magdalene and I will go to the observation booth.” The Princess said, collecting her things. “We will see you after. Does that sound good?”

“Sounds good to me,” Bucky said. “Mags?” 

“Sounds good to me, too.” She agreed.

“Very good.” The Princess smiled. “This will be over before you know! Come on, Magdalene.” She motioned as she started down a hallway, Mags following behind.

Glancing back at him, Mags smiled as they made eye contact even as the rest of her expression and body language spoke to her anxiety and discomfort. She flashed a thumbs up before they disappeared around a corner, while Okoye led him and the King in the opposite direction downward toward the testing rink.

As they wound through the unfamiliar hallways and the inner workings of the laboratories, The King spoke with the general in what could pass as pleasant tones, in a dialect of Swahili that he wasn’t quite familiar with, though aware that eyes were on him. However, The King seemed relaxed, and so Bucky tried to find it within himself to do the same.

Eventually, they came to a section of wall, and the King stopped, pressing his Kimoyo bracelet against the nondescript panel, the wall moved aside, and he motioned for Bucky to enter. Obliging, Bucky walked through the passage first, followed by the King with the Okoye bringing up the rear. The passage was narrow for a moment before it widened out into what looked like a dirt arena with a large (almost impossibly large) ceiling.

Glancing around, he took in his surroundings, trying his best to identify where the obverse rations booth was located to no avail, and instead returned his focus to the King who was stretching while Okoye watched both him and the King.

Bucky stretched a moment, rolling his shoulders, trying to get used to the extra weight. _This is only to test the arm. This isn’t a real fight. _He reminded himself over and over. 

“At your ready, Barnes,” The King commented, pulling Bucky out of his head as he walked leisurely down to the opposite end of the arena, the door they had come through sealing shut. “Out of curiosity, when was the last time you sparred?”

“For practice or for keeps?” Bucky answered dryly.

“I take your point.” The King replied graciously, “We shall take this slow to give you some time to adjust to your prosthesis and the environment.”

“Thank you for that,” Bucky said with a long exhale as he took up a defensive stance opposite the other man who had done the same.

The King nodded, glancing up and away, focused on a specific panel of the wall. “Are you ready for us, sister?”

“All of my sensors are good. You are free to begin the test. Remember, this is for science, you do not need to conserve your energy like a regular fight. I will know if you are holding back.” The Princess’s voice filled the arena, and then just as quickly died away.

Then lowering his gaze, the King made eye contact with the Okoye and then with him. In the flash of a moment, the King kept across the arena, and the test drive for his combat-ready prosthesis had officially begun.

-

Maggie followed the Princess as they wound through the interior halls of the laboratory facility. “Right this way is the observation booth. This arena is where we test a number of Wakandan weapons, body armor, and a wide variety of tech.” The Princess explained as they entered a small booth overlooking the massive arena.

It was empty so far as Maggie could tell, but knew that King T’Challa and Bucky couldn’t be too far away.

“The best seat in the house will be right here,” The Princess said, motioning to a plush chair near one of the large windows. “I will be at the control panel, so I won’t need to see what’s going on.”

“Thank you, your highness. You’ve been very kind and nothing but kind and helpful throughout this whole process. I appreciate it tremendously.” Maggie said, her hands clasped together, uncertain of what else could or should be said.

The Princess nodded, surveying her with a critical and analytical eye. “You do not need to be so worried. Just because we are done with the prosthesis today, does not mean we will send him to war tomorrow.” She said gravely.

Was she that obvious? Maggie didn’t know, but she felt embarrassed enough to blush. “I trust you. I trust all of you with my life.” Maggie paused, trying to find a way to begin the next sentence with a ‘but.’ “It is in my nature to worry.”

“And you do it well,” The Princess smiled, turning to look out the large wall to ceiling windows.

“Thanks?” Maggie chuckled, following the Princess’s gaze where Bucky, the General, and the King had just entered the arena.

Maggie felt as though she was doing much better than the previous appointments. She was proud of herself or had been up until the moment she’d been called out by the genius teenager currently running diagnostics on her boyfriend’s prosthesis.

Was the Princess just that good? Or was Maggie just that bad at keeping her shit together?

She’d been working on all of her baggage as far as it concerned people dying and her being unable to stop it. She’d also been sorting through her compartmentalizations of James Barnes as winter Soldier and Bucky. Bucky had even been kind enough to give her plenty of warning, and they’d discussed what all was going to happen during this appointment in detail.

No surprises. Maggie knew what was coming next.

She’d also done her best to help Bucky with his nerves as well. Although he tried to hide it, Maggie could tell that he’d been anxious about seeing the prosthesis completed for the first time. They’d spent more than one evening talking through the design and aesthetic choices that had gone into the final product. She was glad that he felt comfortable enough now to talk about that aspect of his life, of their lives, than they’d been even four or five months ago. Furthermore, she was thankful that the arm had been what he’d expected, and everything had gone smoothly.

The arm was a work of art. It was unspeakably beautiful and a technological wonder.

Maggie could still remember how heavy the other one had been. The original arm. She could remember how it felt while dead weight in her hands as she’d worked to fix the damaged circuits. She knew of the knotted muscles, pain, and twisted spine. She knew of the metal plate and metal linkages that had been inset into his torso to stabilize and support the weight of their cool, steely creation.

This one was nothing like that. This one was lighter, made for the wearer’s comfort. So far as any mechanism meant for combat could be made for comfort.

Yet, she felt as though she was waiting for something. For a transformation of some kind to occur. Was she afraid of what she might see? After all, she had spent hours, days even spooling through old video footage and skimming through old photographs of the Winter Soldier and the gristly carnage he’d wrought.

She knew what the Winter Soldier moved liked, knew what a killer moved like. She’d watched him move that way on the ranch, and she’d seen the implement grafted into his body that had helped facilitate that end.

Maggie had known then, from the moment she first laid eyes on him, that he was dangerous. Later she’d confirmed her instincts were correct through the mountains upon mountains of data she’d complied. But, it was one thing to know and another thing to see first hand.

It was strange to see both men like this, side by side, nothing but their trousers. It was a stark difference between someone like Steve, who was bulky with all of his muscle and just sheer size, as compared to King T’Challa and Bucky, who, while still muscular, were far more lean and agile. 

“All right. Systems are a go here, let’s tell them they can begin at their ready,” The Princess commented, more to herself than to Maggie. “All of my sensors are good. You are free to begin the test. Remember, this is for science, you do not need to conserve your energy like a regular fight. I will know if you are holding back.”

“Good luck.” She mumbled to herself, watching both of them take up their positions.

Maggie didn’t have to wait long as King T’Challa made the first move, lunging and leaping across the arena toward Bucky, who responded by moving toward the other man, closing the distance and preventing him from getting too much momentum. 

They ducked and weaved, jabbing and dodging and rolling, both trying to get the upper hand.

Then, the King had Bucky pinned, and something inside her held her breath, waiting for a killing blow. _Logically_ she knew that this was all testing the dexterity, strength, and power of the arm, but the ferocity of their fight made her heart doubt what her brain knew.

Without a word, the King released his grip and extended his hand to Bucky, who accepted, allowing him to help him to his feet. There was a smile there, and their body language was relaxed.

Was he laughing? It was almost too far away to see, and she couldn’t quite make out their facial expressions.

“Okay, go again. Try to be a little more energetic with your movements. I can tell both of you holding back.” The Princess instructed.

_Holding back? That was holding back? _Maggie swallowed back her disbelief. Her eyes fixed on the two men in the arena below as they nodded and returned to their fighting stances.

This time, less inside her head, Maggie actually watched what the two men were doing. King T’Challa moved with a cat-like agility. He was lithe and light on his feet and moved quickly and with great accuracy.

Bucky, however, moved more…well, Maggie could see a number of influences on the way he fought. There was a strand of street fighting to his style, like a scrappy brawler, who wasn’t necessarily trained to fight but trained to win. There were likewise shades of James Barnes welterweight boxer of the 1930s and 40s, along with training from Hydra and the Red Room, some of what he’d taught Natasha, but also what Natasha had taught him. 

It was an amalgam of styles and tricks, all in one mam, all in a single human who had lived what probably felt like a hundred lifetimes.

As she watched, she could see how the prosthesis changed how he moved. It weighed more than an arm of flesh and blood, but significantly lighter than the original prosthesis. So there was less thrust in his hips and shoulders to propel him and the arm forward. Yet, despite this, there was still a little bit of uncertainty in his movements as he worked to reacquaint himself with having two hands.

What the Princess was finding Maggie couldn’t tell, but she was thankful for the quiet of the observation booth far above and away from the nose if the sparring match below them.

Yet in the quiet, the Princess's words spun and whirled in her brain. _Just because we are done with the prosthesis today does not mean we will send him to war tomorrow._

But Maggie knew that if Steve asked if Steve wanted Bucky to come back to the ‘front’ wherever that might be, Bucky would do it in a heartbeat, without question. Their conversation from New Year’s Eve had stuck with her, rattling around in her head. The question of if staying was harder than leaving. Maggie honestly didn’t know if it was harder to stay or harder to leave. She’d always been the one staying behind. She’d never gone out to fight, never left behind love ones on the ‘home front’ unless, of course, you counted the whole Juarez situation. But that had been different, that had been survival, not warfare, and certainly not a battlefield in any traditional sense.

No. She’d occupied the role of the waiting wife, hoping for the return of her husband, as she’d waved good men off to war. But she’d never been the warrior, never the one going off to wage war. Perhaps it might be easier to be the one leaving than the one staying, but should it ever come to that, than a lot more had been lost than she could fully comprehend.

The question remained, would Steve ever ask Bucky to return to battle? Perhaps, if the situation demanded it, if the need was great enough, the stakes high enough, the threat large enough, if Steve had no other choice.

So when would that day happen? When would there be a worldwide catastrophe large enough where Steve, and by extension, the secret Avengers, would need all hands on deck? Statistically, it was averaging about once every two years, which meant they were due for the next avengers shit show any day now.

Or maybe they’d never need Bucky. It might happen, it might not, there was no guarantee of either option. The world had never operated according to any plan or rule or logic. It certainly hadn’t consulted her on any sort of master plan. If it had, she wouldn’t be here right now, contemplating the idea of watching another person she loved ride off to war.

_“What do you gain from worrying about what ifs?” _Her therapist had been kind enough to ask, repeat, and push her on.

_“Trying to be prepared for all possible outcomes,”_ Maggie had eventually responded.

Not the best or even the most original response to a question she had asked her clients back on Last Chance. Yet, that was all part of the process, giving shitty horrible answers to the questions your therapist asked so you could work through and find better answers and even more questions for later.

There were no absolutes she knew that. She’d known that for a long, long, long, long time. Her issue was accepting that fact and not panicking and pushing people away at the first sign of trouble, which is what she’d attempted to do with Bucky way back now in July of 2017. She’d come so far since then. They both had, and now here they were, at the last hurdle, the last and final step in the process that could, and one day effectively would end their perfect moment.

It felt selfish to want to keep him here with her. It _was_ selfish. But after everything Bucky had been through, didn’t he also deserve some peace?

Maggie shook her head.

_Our moment isn’t over, not yet._

And it wasn’t. And while there was no way to know what tomorrow would bring, she knew she shouldn’t be wasting her time worrying about it. She could. It was a very real possibility that she’d continue to worry herself sick. But to what end? The worrying hadn’t brought Riley home safe, hadn’t fixed her relationship with Sam, and it certainly hadn’t saved the ranch. All it had brought her was regret, sorrow, and guilt. All-natural, and even healthy in small quantities, but the doses she’d prescribed for herself had been toxic, stunting her growth and ability to heal.

So she’d have to do better in the future.

Maggie redirected her attention down to the two men, watching as they did their best to beat the shit out of each other without actually causing any great physical harm.

From an entirely objective standpoint, it was quite a sight to see. Two warriors in more or less peak physical form grappling half-naked? It certainly checked off several boxes in anyone’s sexual fantasy bingo scorecards. Still, how exactly Bucky could fight or even see with that mess of hair in his face, Maggie didn’t know, but fortunately, it didn’t seem to affect him all that much.

After several more rounds and more than a little bit of sarcasm and irritation from the Princess who was looking for specifics for her data set, the Princess took up the microphone for one final round of instructions. “Okay, you two, hit the showers and be back in the lab in twenty minutes washed and dried so I can remove the sensors, and we can conclude the diagnostics.” She glanced over at Maggie before adding, “plus. It looks like you two were boring Magdalene to death up here. Do better next time.”

Below, Maggie could see both men open their mouths in protest, drawing a smile to her face. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” The Princess inquired as she closed the number of screens she was projecting from her Kimoyo bracelet.

“Not the worst, no.” Maggie agreed. “I gotta ask. Was your brother holding back?”

“At first. But he is terribly competitive, and Barnes is a very skilled fighter.” The Princess answered. “Regardless, I have the data I need. There are a few internal tweaks that I will have to take care of, but nothing stands out to _me_ as being a problem. He, however, might have some suggestions or additions to the prosthesis, so we’ll have to see how the wearing experience was for him.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan.”

They didn’t say much as they walked back to her lab, and Maggie watched on silently (and from a distance) as the Princess and other technicians input the data from the tests into their models, creating a 3D holographic reproduction of the fight, purely from their data set.

“So how did we do, little sister?” The King questioned, breaking the silence as he and Bucky walked up, freshly showered, but still shirtless.

“Well enough,” She answered, but her attention immediately went to Bucky. “How did the prosthesis handle?”

“A lot lighter than I’m used to, but otherwise it felt great. No major complaints.”

“Glad to hear it. I am going to remove the sensors from my brother’s skin first so he can get on his way to whatever important meetings he has to go to next,” She explained, moving to the King, who was already leaning against the workbench.

Bucky walked to where she was standing, slipping onto the workbench. “So. What did you think?”

His voice was soft as he asked it as if he didn’t want to rest of the assembled company to hear. His eyes were bright but focused intently on her. His hair was still wet from the shower and clung to his chest and neck, his skin practically steaming from the exertion of the test fights and the hot water. The prosthesis gleamed, both hands, gripping the edge of the table, but his shoulders were hunched as he tried to make himself appear to be as small a threat as possible.

Maggie hesitated. What could she say? What was there to be said that might sum up what she was thinking of all of this? “I don’t know how you can fight with your hair in your face like that,” She managed finally with a weak chuckle, reaching into her back pocket she removed the hair tie she kept there as an auxiliary in case her’s broke. “Here, if you ever need one, you don’t have to ask. Particularly if it is life and death.”

“I appreciate it” He nodded, “but I’m not going take your emergency hair tie.”

Maggie opened her mouth to protest but was cut off by the King.

“I can assure you, Ms. Ramirez, he was in no _real_ danger from me.” He interjected, now fully clothed.

“Much appreciated.” She nodded.

Then, he turned to Bucky, “It was good to get back into the sparring ring with such a formidable opponent.”

“Thank you for your willingness.”

“The pleasure is all mine. Now, I will let you get on with the rest of your appointment.” He paused, “Let us hope my sister’s handiwork will have no immediate application anytime soon.”

Bucky didn’t say anything and simply nodded before the King departed without another word.

“All right, Bucky Barnes, let's get these sensors off you, and get the prosthesis back to its case for safekeeping,” The Princess interjected before she entered Bucky’s personal space.

Maggie took a step back to give them room, where she was left to ponder everything she had just seen.

Did the royal family know of her concerns? Had Bucky said something to them? Or was it understood that Bucky was going to stay until he was needed? That they weren’t going to send him off into the world, yet? She didn’t know, and now was certainly not the time to ask. Yet she also knew she couldn’t fight what was truly inevitable. This was part of Bucky, part of who he was, and was what he would someday return to.

Sure, she, Sam, Steve, and Bucky could joke all day long about owning and tending a farm together. That was a daydream they all loved to dream about and pretend that somehow bucolic fantasies might become a reality. Unfortunately, they were more likely to “buy the farm” than buy a farm in their line of work. It was just the nature of their occupation and a reality that she was going to have to live with.

So the Wakandans would put away the prosthesis for safekeeping until there was a need for it. Until there was a need for the Winter Soldier again. And until such time, she and Bucky would continue to live out their perfect moment. Playing goat herder, and farrier, making house and pretending that the dark and ugly realities of the world weren’t looming like menacing black thunderheads just on the horizon. She couldn’t fight it. There was no way to win against a force of nature. She couldn’t see the future, and couldn’t fight what _might_ come. So she would absolutely cherish whatever time, whatever life, whatever moment she had left with Bucky in this place until there was no more. Until the song was sung, and the moment passed into nothing more than a memory she would live, firmly rooted in the present, in the here and now. It was all she had, all they had, and all that she could ask for.

“You ready to go?” Bucky asked once he was fully dressed, hair still hanging around his face.

“I would like nothing more.” She answered with a sigh.

“Let’s get out of here,” He smiled, extending his hand to her, they walked from the lab to the lift, and then out into the city below.

\- 

The appointment had gone well, or well enough from Bucky’s perspective. His time with King T’Challa in the rink had been a combination of terrifying, exhilarating, and exhausting. He could already feel bruises forming and muscles begin to ache. The arm had performed beautifully, and whenever the time came, he knew it would do everything he required in the field.

They had made it back home and were tidying up around the house before they started making dinner. Nothing was out of the ordinary or strained about the situation, yet there was still somehow a sense of dread hanging in the air. A knot in the pit of his stomach, growing and gnawing at his insides.

Mags had deflected when he’d asked her what she thought.

They’d been here before, and it had driven them to a number of tough conversations. The nervous energy that she’d been giving off before the appointment had dissipated into nothing, yet she didn’t seem entirely herself either.

What she thought of the arm, and what she thought of him going back out into the field were, ultimately, irrelevant. Bucky knew that. It also wasn’t as if he didn’t know her thoughts on the matter already. They’d had several discussions about that very subject. It was messy and complicated and difficult for both of them. Bucky didn’t want to leave any more than Mags wanted to watch him go off, likely face-first, into a firefight. Yet, that’s what the prosthesis would enable him to do, and ultimately, that’s where he felt that he belonged should the need arise.

The completion of the prosthesis just brought them one step closer to that moment, to the abrupt and most likely permanent return to the “real world” for both of them.

Still, he wanted to make sure she was okay, and he _did_ care about her opinions and thoughts, especially when it came to this. He wanted to know, even if it was difficult to hear.

“You deflected my question,” He said.

“Huh? Pardon?” She stammered, his words apparently pulling her from wherever her mind had been wandering. Looking up from the scarves she was folding and putting away to the doorway where he stood. She made eye contact with him. ”Sorry. I’ve been in my head since the appointment.”

“Back in the lab, when I asked you what you thought, of the prosthesis, of everything, you deflected.”

“So I did.” She agreed with a nod. “I didn’t think it was the best time and place to drag out our—my baggage. But I do stand by what I said. You really should tie your hair back and up while you’re fighting. It’s a good handhold for less than honorable adversaries.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” He asked wryly.

“I was a bartender for a time and a pugnacious little shit. I can honestly say that when your hair is as long as mine, you learn how quickly it can become a liability in a fight.”

“Will take that under advisement.” He paused.

“I know. I know I deflected again.” She shook her head. “And I’ve been quiet since the lab. I’ve been trying to sort through all my thoughts and feeling before I verbalize them.”

“I understand, it’s a lot to take in,” He nodded. Glancing around the hut, he looked back at her, watching her watch him. “Can I sit down?”

“Sure. Please.” She scoot over to give him space on the mat, adjusting the pile of scarves in her lap.

Once he was settled beside her, she continued folding the recently laundered scarves and stowing them back in their basket. Her eyes down, Bucky could feel the cogs and wheels in her head thinking, before eventually, she spoke. “I think my brain keeps circling around to the fact that I know one day I’m going to wish you off and that one day, you’re not going to come back.”

There was no anger or sadness in her voice as she said it. It was just a statement of fact. How did she want him to respond? There was nothing he could say that could change what they both knew was true. It was all just a matter of when now, rather than if.

“You want me to retire.” He said finally. It was a horrible response to her statement, but the only one that made any sort of logical sense to say.

“If I thought it would bring you peace, yes. But I know it would eat you up from the inside out if you retired, and you hadn’t satisfied your conscience.” She said, her eyes and hands still focused on their task.

“And you’re okay with that?”

“If I want you to stay in my life, If _I _want to stay in _your _life, it’s something that I have to come to terms with, and I’m trying.”

“What can I do?”

“If there was anything you could do, I know you would do it. I know you are doing it by even having this conversation with me.” She said slowly. There was another long paused, her eyes staring off in the distance a moment as if straining to remember before she spoke again. “Do you remember that feeling? Watching Steve and Natasha and Sam leave, New Year’s Eve?”

“I do.”

“That feeling like you’re being torn in two, watching someone go, not knowing if you’re ever going to see them again?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m still trying to figure out how to live with that feeling. I’m trying to find a path through that dread of not knowing while also knowing that tomorrow isn’t a guarantee, for anyone.” Mags shook her head, clearing her throat. “I’ve created all these walls, all these maladaptive coping mechanisms over the years in response to people leaving and not coming back. But since I've been here, since I met you, fell in love with you, and decided to start thinking about a future with you, I’ve tried to tear down these walls, tear down the uncertainty and fear. Because I want to enjoy the time we have together, however long or brief. I don’t want to worry myself sick over what might happen that I miss out on what _is _happening. I want to _enjoy_ our time together, but more than that, I want to continue to let you in, let you see some of the less than savory part of me, let you see the weakness and uncertainty, and not build walls around the horrible ugly bits. So. It’s…uhhh…it’s a struggle, and I’m struggling, but I haven’t given up. I don’t want to give up because I love you, James Barnes.”

Bucky sat there, letting the weight and pure raw emotion of her words and their meaning seep into his skin. This was the hard part. This was something that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss and a wink. She was hurting, and all he could do was stand by and watch her try to put herself back together. “You’re very brave, Mags,” Bucky said softly. “Going through all that you have and still making yourself vulnerable to me. Thank you for sticking around, even if the ending does look grim.”

Mags nodded, reaching out she took his hand and squeezed tight. “I don’t _want_ to go, you know.” He continued after a moment. “But you know that. You know that I’ve never had a choice, I was drafted, brainwashed, and then hunted.” He shook his head, “But when I do go back to the front, go back to the fight, whenever and wherever it may be, it’ll be because of everyone who gave me a second chance. It’ll be to protect and defend those that I love, and to repent for the life I led.” He could feel her grasp tighten at his words and a lump form in his throat. “It’ll be a hard choice, but ultimately it’ll be _my _choice.”

“I know, Bucky.” Mags answered, turning to him, she released his hand and cupped his face with both hands, “I know.” She smiled softly, kissing his forehead.

Then dropping her hands to her side, she returned to her work, and Bucky knew there was nothing more that could be said. She had spoken her truth, and what was on her mind, and he’d given her the only assurance he could. After a lifetime of compulsion and brainwashing, the next time he stepped on the battlefield, it would be by his consent.

“And for the record, I think you and the Princess did a wonderful job with the design of your new arm. The Kintsugi inspired design was a nice touch.” She added after a moment.

“Thanks.”

“It’s beautiful, and I’m glad it works for you. The last thing any of us would want is for your new arm to be uncomfortable and impractical to use and wear.”

Bucky nodded, and Mags chuckled to herself.

“What?” He asked, trying to figure out what strange turn had occurred to elicit such a reaction.

“If you’d asked me five years ago where I’d be or what I’d be doing in five years, I never in a thousand years would’ve imagined I’d be in a small African country, talking about cybernetic limbs.”

“I think that might just be a side effect of being involved with super-soldiers.” Bucky shook his head. “Or are relationships normally this complicated?”

“Worse, usually. There are sometimes in-laws or shitty relatives who don’t like you, like Rileys Racist Bitch Aunt.“

“Oh?”

“Aunt Mildred called me a beaner at the wedding when she thought I couldn’t hear.” Maggie shook her head, “Ironically, she gave us the marble rolling pin those Hydra bastards used to crush my hand.”

“She sounds like a real piece of work.”

“You have no idea,” Mags shook her head, rolling her eyes. Then smoothing her expression and clearing her throat, she continued. “All of this to say is that nothing is guaranteed. Even the things you think are going to be forever aren’t forever, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to make the most out of the time you _do _have.”

“And you’re willing to do that, with me? Knowing how all of this is likely to end?”

“We won’t know how it ends until it does,” She answered, “And as I said before, I love you, and I don’t want to waste time worrying about eventualities.”

Bucky nodded, leaning in he kissed the top of her head., his hand going to her shoulder, to brush away baby hairs that had slipped from the long braid down her back. “I love you too, Magdalene.”

Mags smiled, humming to herself a moment as she concluded her task of folding and putting away the scarves. “I have a few more things to do in here, why don’t you go start up the cooking coals for dinner, and then maybe we can dance a bit before we get going on dinner.” She suggested.

“That sounds like a good plan.” He kissed her again, and she turned her head and kissed his cheek before he rose and returned outside.

Re-kindling the fire so that it could bake back down into cooking coals, he pondered Mags’s words. There was a certain steadfastness to her position, and he could appreciate knowing that while one day they would be separated, they were going to make the most of whatever time they had left.

Eventually, Mags joined him, and they prepped some of dinner before she turned on music, and they left the coals to burn down sufficiently.

They danced, laughing and tripping over one another’s feet just long enough to almost forget about dinner. Then after making, consuming, and cleaning up dinner, they resumed dancing, listening to anything from Willie Nelson, to Bing Crosby, to George Strait and more. And as they danced to “The Way you look tonight” under the stars and bright moon, Bucky held Mags close, her head against his chest her arms around him.

For all that might happen, they had one another. And though that for all that he hoped and wished and prayed, this couldn’t last forever. Someday, maybe even soon, this would be all over. He didn’t want to know how the story ended, and if it were up to him, it never would, But for now, being here with her was enough, and that would be enough, for as long as they could manage it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Bucky has a brand new shiny prosthesis! We’re also down to the last two chapters! Just as an FYI, they’ll be posted in rapid succession hopefully sometime next week (A long with Chapter 1 of Pt. 4). Thank you so much to everyone who’s commented, subscribed, bookmarked, or left kudos. Thank you for taking this journey with me. It means a lot! There’s still plenty more Mags and Bucky coming, stay tuned!


	29. A Case of Do Or Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So, if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: Have you Ever Seen the Rain by Willie Nelson; Three Times a Lady by The Commodores; Goodbye My Love by Tyler Bates (From 300)
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=_3ZZwkisS5mAfKY5a_CxHg

It was morning again. Bucky loved morning time and certainly loved it more since Mags had moved in with him. It had been a little while since his last fitting, his birthday had come and gone, and they’d fallen into a routine. It was rather like the routine they’d had when she’d stay the night over. Only now they were like this every day, and he’d become accustomed to the sound of her gentle inhale and exhale as she slept, and the scratching of pen and paper in the early hours of dawn when she woke up early to journal.

Bucky watched as she lay in bed journaling, her bare back to him, their blanket bunched around her waist. It was early, and neither of them had made the first move to initiate getting out of bed. Bucky had woken up to the sound of her pen scratching against paper, and he lay still so not to alert her that he was awake and watching her. From his vantage point, he could see the profile of her body, the curve of her side from shoulder to waist, to hip to ass. Her face hidden from view, he wondered what expression she was making as she wrote, or perhaps even what her handwriting looked like. Was it wide and loopy, or was it stiff and scrunched together. Most of all, he wanted to run his fingers over her warm brown skin, which shone almost bronze in the light that streamed from the open windows, giving her an aura in the early morning sun. He wanted to touch her and know that she was there. That this wasn’t some kind of waking dream.

Losing all self-control, Bucky sat up, then leaning down he pressed his face into her hair, brushing away the long strands as he kissed her neck, his hand resting on her shoulder.

“Good morning to you too, James Barnes,” She chuckled gently, turning her head slightly to make eye contact with him.

“Good morning, doll,” He murmured, moving his hand down toward the base of her neck before running his fingers along her spine, drawing goosebumps on her skin.

“You know damn well we don’t have time for this kind of nonsense in the mornings,” Mags said as crossly as she could manage for someone who was doing their absolute best to keep the smile from her voice.

“You _could_ always call and tell Jelani you woke up late, and you’re not going to make it on time,” Bucky suggested, planting soft kisses up her neck and down her jaw.

“Counter offer, James Barnes,” Mags said, rolling onto her back and propping herself up on both elbows, turned her firm gaze to him. “We go to work on time, have a good workday, and then cancel our social engagements for the evening and have a nice night in,” She said, reaching out with her left hand to brush some hair off his face. “How does that sound?”

“Very practical, but far less fun than going into work late,” He chuckled, leaning in and kissing her.

“That’s me, the practical, less fun one.” She laughed into the kiss. “If you want the less practical, more fun partner, you’ll have to see what Steve is up to.”

Bucky pulled away to see the big shit-eating grin on her face, “You mean fistfight god, jump out of airplanes without parachutes Steven Grant Rogers is the fun one?” He asked cocking an eyebrow in comical dismay.

“That got your blood pressure up, didn’t it?”

“Careful with that doll, I’m over 100 now. I’m a centenarian. We’re delicate.”

“And to think Steve will be joining that club here in a month or so,” She chuckled. “Do you think it’ll make any difference?”

“Yeah, there will be no living with him after this,” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“There will be no living with anyone if we’re late for our day jobs, Barnes,” Mags said, reaching up to kiss him.

“Just a couple more minutes? I think I’m rather enjoying the view.” Bucky mumbled into the kiss.

“Luckily for you, so am I,” She answered.

After exchanging a few more kisses, they both conceded that it was time to get ready for the working day, and Bucky headed outside to restart the fire for coffee and breakfast while Mags got dressed, she did have a longer commute after all.

“Did you have any bad dreams last night?” Mags asked over coffee while they waited for their porridge to finish.

“I didn’t. I slept very soundly.” He answered, from where he was crouched over the fire, stirring the mealy mix diligently.

“How many nights in a row is this?” She continued.

“I _think_ we’re going on three weeks, though I’d have to consult my dream journal.” He answered as the porridge thickened. He rose, removing the pot from the heat, started over where Mags was waiting for him at the table.

“I feel like that has to be some kind of record,” She smiled as he set the pot down between their two bowls. “Congrats.”

“Thanks. I’m sure you’re thankful for that.” He said as they portioned out the porridge and then sprinkled the fruits and nuts Mags had sliced and chopped on top.

“I am. Mostly just thankful you’re getting good rest. It was a bit touch and go for a while.”

“And what about you? How have you been sleeping?” He inquired, settling down across from her, they dug in.

“No nightmares. Thankfully, of course, you’d know if I was.” She paused, taking another sip of her coffee. “I’ve been thinking about the Llorna Network a lot recently. That’s what I was journaling about. It’s that time of year again.”

Bucky nodded so it was. He’d been thinking about that too. It had been almost two years since the whole SNAFU with the United Nations, and the subsequent fight with Stark. It was also two years since he’d gone into the deep freeze while Princess Shuri removed Hydra’s programming. Two years, and look at how much had changed since.

“Anything in particular?” Bucky ventured uncertainly.

“Mostly just hoping they’re okay. Wondering if they’re still in operation. Thinking about what might have happened had I been a slightly better undercover operative rather than some greenhorn who got noticed, shot, and nearly abducted by the U.S. Government.” Mags shook her head, clearing her throat. “I digress.”

“Well. You certainly wouldn’t be here, that’s for sure.” Bucky said firmly.

“So, it all worked out for the best then didn’t it?” She smiled brightly.

“So, it did.” He agreed.

Nothing more was said and they ate breakfast and cleaned up in mutual amicable silence, while Bucky went through a checklist of what he needed to get done for the day, as Mags very likely did the same.

“So. Are we in accord, James Barnes?” Mags asked, breaking their silence as she saddled Skywalker, fastening the closures on her saddlebags, her lunch, and satchel secured inside.

“Accord?” He echoed uncertainly.

Mags rolled her eyes with a good-humored laugh. “Yes. Normally I have my weaving group, and you have your Bao game. Are we going to cancel and have the night in, or not?”

“Oh. Right. That.” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling all flustered. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack, you good looking centenarian.” She teased, going up on tip ropes, kissed his cheek.

“It’s a date then.”

“Ooh one of those,” She kissed him again before stepping back, “I look forward to it.”

“I’ll see you tonight then.”

“See you tonight, have a good day.”

“You too,” he answered as she mounted Skywalker.

Waving over her shoulder to him, Mags trotted away and out of sight.

Returning to the hut, Bucky started getting ready for his day. He wasn’t going to be with goats today. Instead, he was packing feed for the next round of deliveries. It was hard work, certainly harder than minding goats, but it would be easier to pass the time that way. As a plus, a couple of the local kids always came to watch, and they made a game out of how far he could toss the bags of feed, or how fast he could fill and seal them, though they always had to help him tie off each bag.

Dressing for the day, in one of his rattier pairs of pants and shirts, he paused as he picked up the scarf Mags had been laying on. It was warm from where it had been sitting in the sun of the open window, and he smiled softly as he slipped it over his head and adjusted the knot. It was the one Mags had made for his birthday, his 100th birthday when they’d barely been friends. It wasn’t his best-made scarf, but it was one of his favorites, and now due to frequent use, it looked like it needed to be mended.

Then without much ceremony, he started to where he’d be working for the day.

“Heyi, White Wolf, are you coming to Bao tonight?” Omondi called from where he sat in front of his house on a low stool, as Bucky walked past.

“Actually, about that,” Bucky paused, turning to the old man. “I think Mags and I are going to stay in for the evening.”

A knowing grin passed over the older man’s face. “You better marry that girl. You won’t find a better match!” Omondi teased, with a raspy laugh.

“She’s a widow and I’m a scoundrel, I don’t think marriage suits either of us,” Bucky replied, as he always did when Omondi suggested that he and Mags get married.

It wasn’t anything serious, a sort of banter that they’d managed to cultivate over the past few months. In some part, Bucky was sure Omondi only did it because he knew it ruffled Bucky’s feathers just enough to be endearing. Bucky didn’t mind and actually appreciated that Omondi and most of the villagers felt comfortable enough around him now to give him at least a _little _bit of shit.

“True enough, true enough! She is to good for you anyway!” He continued.

“I keep telling her that, but I don’t think she listens.”

“Then you are practically married as it is.” Omondi chuckled, shaking his head. “Send her my best when you see her and have a good day! I think Tabo and Langa are already waiting for you.”

“Then I should get going.”

“Yes, you should.”

Bucky waved at the older man and continued walking, and true to Omodni’s word, both Tabo and Langa were there waiting for him. 

He got to work, bagging the feed and sealing off the rough burlap sacks. The air was hot and sticky, and he quickly soaked through his clothes. This wasn’t tough work, but absorbing, requiring his focus as the kids cheered him on or asked him questions.

He was tossing a filled bag of feed when he saw them out of the corner of his sight. An entourage of people walking toward where he was working.

There was the King, General, and two of the royal guard, one of them was carrying a stylized metal case.

His stomach dropped, his pulse pounding in his throat. Abandoning his work, he walked to meet them. About halfway between them, there was another cart of feed and hay, which was where they stopped. The guard carrying the case set it down on the back of the cart, opening the lid to reveal the contents, and moving away to let him approach.

Bucky didn’t need to see what was inside to know what was inside. He knew what it was and what it meant.

He stopped as he reached the cart, looking down at the arm laying on its plush cushion, waiting for its wearer.

So it was time.

They’d known this day would come. They’d known that he’d be called back to the fight. He just hadn’t thought it would happen this soon. Somehow he’d thought he’d have more time.

“Where’s the fight?” He asked, an audible lump in his throat.

“On its way.” The King answered.

Beside the King, Bucky could see the General’s expression. Was there something sad in her normally stoic expression? He didn’t know, and he certainly didn’t have time to ponder.

“How long?”

“A few hours.” He paused, “Magdalene will join you here shortly, you’ll have thirty minutes before the transport vehicle will bring you both to the capital where you will be briefed and appropriately outfitted.”

“I understand.

The King nodded, giving him a once over. Like the General, there was something sad in his expression, and for a moment, Bucky thought he might say something, but the moment passed in silence. They were beyond words now.

tepping forward, Bucky closed the cased, making eye contact with both the King and the General, He nodded, “thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes.” The King echoed.

Then, Bucky watched as they turned and walked back the way they’d come. That was it? Somehow he’d expected some sort of speech exhorting him to take up arms again. But that hadn’t been necessary, and The King had known that.

Collecting the case, he turned toward home. The children had scattered, and he was left to walk alone. His head was spinning with a multitude of questions.

What was happening? What were the stakes? Who was involved? Bucky didn’t know, but it didn’t matter now, did it?

He was needed, and it was time to repay all those that had given him this chance at life: an ability to trust his own mind, a chance to trust himself, an opportunity to live fully and love deeply.

Bucky paused as he reached the threshold of his hut, his _home_, the one he’d made and shared with Mags.

Their bedroll was still out. The blanket crumpled just the way she’d left it. Their possessions were stored messily in baskets. On a small squat table sat the makeshift Offrenda Mags had set up when she’d moved in. There was the Our Lady of Guadalupe Statue, which was draped with a rosary, and a chain strung with her wedding bands, and Riley Underdahl’s dog tag. There were also photos, Riley, her brother, mother, and grandparents all smiled out at him, along with a photo of his family, his mother, father, and three sisters. There were pots and pans, and cooking implements hanging on the wall. All signs of living, all little personal touches that they’d brought to this space that had once seemed more like a temporary shelter. Now it was a home, their home.

Would this be the last time he’d see it like this? Would he be able to return here once whatever threat he was getting ready to fight passed?

Bucky didn’t know.

_Time is limited. You have to move. You have to prepare. The fight is on its way. You have to be ready. _His mind screamed at him, urging him to keep moving.

The heft of the case hung heavy in his hand, tugging at his shoulder, and Bucky knew he couldn’t deny the voice in his head much longer, prompting him to act as he had been trained: assess, Evaluate, regroup, keep moving.

Stepping inside, he knelt down on both knees, placing the case in front of him, his hand resting on the top.

_What are you waiting for?_

_Mags._ He was waiting for Mags. It was foolish. They were on the clock, and there was so much to take care of, but he _knew_ he should wait for her. She’d been here for the beginning. It only seemed fair that she was here for the end. The logical conclusion to the journey. The end of their perfect moment.

He could hold off the end for a little while longer. He would do that for her. It was the least he could do when she deserved so much better than this.

-

So far, it had been a busy day at the shop. She’d shoed two horses, and was working on cleaning up. Her mind, however, was far and away, thinking to her and Bucky’s evening in. That would be good. It had been a busy few weeks both at their jobs and socially. So the night in was well deserved, and sorely needed. Would they dance and make a nice dinner? Or would they just go straight to bed without dinner? Either option was tempting, but there’d be time to sort all of that out—

“Heyi, Magdalene!” Jelani’s voice called, piercing through her daydreams with it’s sharp and urgent tone.

“Ewe, Jelani!” Maggie answered, rushing from the workshop. She stopped short as she saw Jelani standing beside a royal guardsman in front of a transport vehicle.

“What is it? What happened?” She stammered out.

“A situation has arisen, you need to go with him. You’re being evacuated to the city.” He explained gravely.

Maggie was suddenly rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to think, as a thousand emotions flooded her senses and threatened to overwhelm her. But before she could be overwhelmed entirely, Jelani approached her, extending her satchel to her. “You have to go, Cowgirl.”

She nodded, taking the bag, her throat seized with tears. “Thank you. Thank you for everything. Tell Tee thank you for me too,” She managed.

There was a pause before Maggie closed the space between them, throwing her arms around the older man’s neck, pulling him into a firm embrace. It seemed only yesterday that she had arrived in his village, and he had taken her in as one of her own, given her the support and help and encouragement she needed over the last two years. And now this was likely goodbye.

He tensed a moment before returning the hug, “Be good, Cowgirl. Everything will be okay.”

Maggie nodded as they parted, and following the Guardsman, she boarded the transport without looking back, knowing that if she did, she would lose all composure.

She didn’t even know what was going on, but the grave note in Jelani’s voice, and the mere presence of the Wakandan Guard and transport meant that it was serious.

They sped off, though where she wasn’t sure. Was she going to get to go back home to collect some things, or were they taking her directly to the Capital? What was going on? Had something happened? Well, something had happened, but what? Was it Steve? The U.S Government? Had something happened to Sam or Bucky? Her brain worked a mile a minute.

Fortunately, she was given a small reprieve as she realized they were headed back to her and Bucky’s place. The transport stopped just outside the village, and the guard spoke to her for the first time. “Grab your things, you and the White Wolf have thirty minutes.”

So Bucky was still here.

Maggie nodded. Scrambling from the transport, she ran to the house, skidding to a stop outside. Bucky was sitting just inside, his back to the door. He was looking at something, sitting perfectly still.

_I’m dreaming, wake up Maggie, Wake up! _Her brain screamed at her. But this wasn’t a nightmare. Somehow this was worse. She knew she wasn’t sleeping. She knew she wasn’t going to wake at any moment. Everything was too real, too vivid, and too painful.

“How bad?” Maggie managed, her voice shaking.

Bucky must’ve heard her approach because he didn’t flinch or start as she spoke. Instead, he sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I don’t know.”

“Where?”

“Incoming.”

“How long?”

“A few hours.”

Maggie took a few faltering steps forward. They had to pack. They had to move. They didn’t have much time. Yet Bucky was still, motionless, sitting there in complete silence. Maggie wanted to reach out and touch him. Wanted to pull him to her, and hold him close, as if that would somehow stop whatever it was that headed toward them.

“Will you help me?” Bucky asked softly, his chin motioning to what was in front of him.

Maggie took a few more steps toward him and saw the metal case that the Wakandans had used to store the prosthesis. So they’d brought it to him. But why hadn’t they attached it? Why hadn’t he attached it? He and the Princess had both agreed that he should be able to attach and remove the arm on his own. Why wait, when they had such limited time?

“I waited. I wanted you here. It just seemed right.” He continued slowly when she didn’t answer.

Maggie swallowed hard. “Of course, Bucky,” She managed, moving into the hut, sinking down at Bucky’s left side.

The case was open in front of him. In the dim light of the hut, the arm took on a menacing glint. _It’s just a tool. A tool that will keep him safe in whatever is coming next._ She reminded herself.

“Here we are,” Bucky said after a moment of silence.

“Here we are.” She repeated.

“I don’t know what I’m charging into, but I’m sorry that we don’t have more time.”

“I know, Bucky, I know.” She soothed, putting her hand on his left leg. Maggie paused, the smallest hint of a smile curling at her lip, “The whole world crumbling, and we pick now to fall in love.” She managed weakly.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad timing,” He completed the quote, his eyes still focused down on the arm.

Of all the times to quote movies, all the moments to quote Casablanca and she’d chosen this one. But what better time to borrow words when her own had dried up, leaving a void of all the things she wanted to say.

“I love you, Bucky,” She murmured. “Whatever happens next, whatever comes after, I love you.”

“I love you too.” He answered, reaching over with his right hand, placed it on hers. There was a pause as he weighed his next words before speaking again. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I thought I would be ready when the time came.” He admitted.

“Bucky, I don’t think we were ever going to be ready for this moment,” Maggie replied.

Bucky nodded, looking up at her, “A pencil pusher next time, doll. You gotta find a way to kick your habit of people in uniform.”

Maggie chuckled, rising on her knees, she reached up and kissed his cheek. “Duly noted.”

There was a pause, a heavy sigh, and then Bucky reached to the scarf around his neck, adjusting it to expose the nub and cap, the armhole of both his outer and undershirt large enough to facilitate the prosthesis without forcing him to disrobe. “Hold onto this for me?” He asked, removing the nub cap and extending it to her.

She took it, slipping it into her satchel as Bucky lifted the prosthesis from its case. Silently they worked in tandem to attach the arm. This was all familiar. They’d done this before. Yet Maggie couldn’t help but wince at the sound of the locking mechanism clicking into place.

“All present and correct?” She asked, watching Bucky flex the hand.

“Yeah.” He nodded, “We need to pack. We don’t have long.”

“Yeah.” She breathed.

They had a job to do. Operating almost by feel alone, Maggie went to the storage basket that contained all of their bags and removed her go-bag. It was the bag that she’d crossed into Mexico with, the bag that had come with her from Juarez, and the bag she would now use to pack away what she could of her life in Wakanda to whatever fate awaited her in the capital. It was one of the few bags she hadn’t fully unpacked during her move. Inside she and Bucky had stored her old journals, photographs, and valuables that didn’t need to be out for everyday use in the bag, which made her job easier as she collected her possessions for a quick evacuation.

Moving quickly, Maggie’s grabbed a spare change of clothes, underwear, and basic toiletries. First removing Riley’s dog tag, their wedding bands, and her grandfather’s rosary from around her grandmother’s Our Lady of Guadalupe statue, Maggie then wrapped the porcelain saint in her spare shirt. Stowing the statue in her back, she twined the rosary around her left wrist, and slipped the dog tag and wedding bands into the same waterproof bag she kept extra photos. Then, she started to remove the photos from the Ofrenda, filing them into the bag. Once everything had been safely put in the bag, she sealed and stowed it away.

Maggie focused on what she was doing, trying not to think about what was going to come next, what she was going to leave behind.

_I’ll be able to come back for whatever I can’t take with me now, right? When this is all over?_

She didn’t want an answer and certainly didn’t want to think of the thousand possible scenarios for how the next twenty-four hours might proceed.

Maggie faltered as she went to zip up her bag and glanced over her shoulder at Bucky, who sat silently out of the way, holding his journals in both hands.

“I can keep them safe for you until you get back from whatever it is coming our way.” She said.

Bucky nodded, extending them to her. Maggie took them in both hands, their fingertips brushing. Stowing them away with her journals, She looked back up at him, “Is there anything else?”

Those words. Funny. Those words had inspired wrath and anger and frustration and conflict when Bucky had said them to her almost two years ago, after she’d handed over her journals to him, documenting her quest to find and bring him home. Now, she’d just asked the same thing as they packed away their life together into a single backpack.

Bucky paused as he made eye contact with her, slipping the scarf over his head. “I’d like you to hold onto this for me. I don’t want to lose it.”

Maggie smiled, Gently taking the scarf from him, she removed the knot, folding it into a small square before placing it on top of the pack. Zipping the backpack up, Maggie exhaled a slow and shaking breath, trying not to feel the finality of such an action.

Instead, she turned her gaze to the small space, wishing there was more time, wishing there was some way that she could justify taking more with her, but this was an evacuation, there wasn’t time or space for much more than she was already bringing with her.

Her gaze faltered a moment as she looked at Bucky. He was crouched on a small stool. His hands clasped together, head bowed, hair hanging in his face, obscuring his eyes.

Was he praying? Maggie couldn’t tell. Personally, it had been years since she’d offered up any substantial prayers of her own. Still, she knew going into a firefight could turn even the most hardened of atheists into the most devoutly religious man.

“Do you have everything?” His voice broke the silence as he looked up at her.

“I think so,” She nodded. “We should probably get going. We don’t have much time.”

“We have a few more minutes.” He answered.

Rising her crossed the small space and knelt in front of her. Slowly, he reached out with his right hand and cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. It was only then that she realized that silent tears had started to fall.

“I’m sorry,” Maggie stammered, as she started to wipe at her face, but instead rested her hands against his chest.

“Don’t be.” He shook his head. “We don’t have very long,” He continued softly. “I don’t know what I’m walking into, and I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I do know that whenever this is done, however it ends, that everything is going to be different for us,” Bucky paused, swallowing hard. “I love you, Magdalene. I will always love you. Thank you for everything you’ve given me, the chance to be in your life, a chance to live_ my_ life. Thank you for allowing me in your life after so much pain and hurt and turmoil, and for opening yourself up to me. It’s more than I could ever deserve.”

She nodded, tears coming faster, and Bucky placed his left hand against her other cheek. Was that slight tremor she felt in the prosthesis? Or was that just her imagination. Maggie didn’t know as she fought with all her might to keep control of her self. Her lip trembled, even as Bucky dabbed at the tears.

“Now now,” He murmured with a small smile, “here’s looking at you, kid.”

Maggie choked out a watery laugh, shaking her head as Bucky dropped his hands to his lap. “You’re still a cheese ball, Barnes.”

“I do my best,” Bucky answered.

Maggie opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of footsteps approaching their dwelling. “We have to go. We need to get to the city. I still have to be briefed on the situation.” He said shortly, his tone all business.

_This isn’t fair!_ She wanted to scream, but she didn’t even know what _this_ was. Just that Bucky had been called to fight, and he had answered, just as they’d known he would. Nothing that she could do or say would change what was happening. So instead, she just clenched her jaw, nodding as she swallowed back the tidal wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

Standing, he collected the prosthesis case in his left hand and extended his right to her to help her up.

She accepted, and he pulled her to her feet. They paused, glancing around at the space, knowing that the next time they came back, if they were able to come back at all, everything would be different.

Without a word, Maggie picked up her backpack, putting it on over her satchel, and they walked outside where the Royal Guardsman was waiting for them. Walking to the transport vehicle, they climbed on board in silence. 

It was a quick ride to the capital, and they were whisked off to the palace, where a ready room was waiting for them. The ready room was laid out like a hotel room without a bed. Setting down her bag and satchel on the couch, Maggie took a look around. Bucky’s gear was hung up in the open closet, the weapons, she assumed, he’d be issued later from the armory. There was a double sink and mirror, a couch, a desk with a chair, and a chest of drawers. All of it generic and soulless.

“I’m going to shower and get ready,” Bucky commented as he turned to her. “You going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Go clean up.” She smiled.

Bucky nodded, quickly pecking her on the cheek before turning and retreating into the bathroom.

Waiting until she could hear the sound of water splashing, and the unmistakable sound of someone under the stream, Maggie turned to the mirror.

She looked liked shit.

_You gotta pull yourself together. You gotta be stronger than that, if not for him, then for yourself._ Maggie shook her head as her fingers went to the buttons on the front of her shirt. Pulling off her shirt, she stripped off her bracelets, and Grandfather’s rosary, before washing her hands, arms, face, and chest in the sink. Reapplying her deodorant, she pulled her shirt back on, rolling up her sleeves in a tidy cuff.

Then, feeling marginally more human, she pulled down her hair, unbraiding the long lengths. Brushing and re-braiding, she focused all of her energy, all of her thoughts, every ounce of will into the action. She couldn’t let her mind wander. Couldn’t let her hands shake, her legs tremble, her stomach to knot or tears to seize in her throat and redden her eyes.

_You’ve been here before. The last thing he needs right now is to see you cry. That can’t be the last thing he sees before you say goodbye._

Maggie paused as she realized the water was off and that humid steam was filling the room.

Glancing up, she found Bucky standing in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair dripping around his face, his eyes watching her.

“What?” She asked, almost bashfully, as if she’d just been caught redhanded.

“I like watching you braid your hair,” Bucky said softly. “It’s soothing,” He added, moving to the closet.

“I didn’t know,” Maggie admitted as her eyes followed him across the room. “I’m glad.”

She watched him as he dried off and started to dress. Her eyes were drawn to his chest and back, which were flecked with scars, burns and stab wounds and bullet holes —a testament to what he had endured, what he’d survived. She’d seen that part of him so many times before, but now Maggie couldn’t help but wonder what new horrors the events of the day might inflict upon his skin or in his head.

Only time would tell. And at present, She didn’t have much time to spare.

She watched as he pulled on his pants and socks, before lacing his boots and buckling his spats.

“What do you plan to do with your hair?” She asked as he rose to full height, still shirtless, his hair still dripping from the shower, and hanging limply around his face.

“I was just going to let it air dry.” He paused, examining her expression. “But I get the feeling you won’t let me get away with that.”

“If you’re not going to put it up, at least let me properly blow dry it.”

Bucky hesitated, and for a moment, she thought he might fight her, but instead, he nodded. “Let me put on my undershirt first.” He replied.

“Fair enough.” She agreed, pulling the desk chair in front of the mirror, and removing the blow dryer from the cabinet below the sink while he pulled on what appeared to be a one-armed, long sleeve moisture wicking turtleneck. Maggie would also wager that in addition to being moisture-wicking, it was woven with Wakandan fibers meant to both protect as well as keep his core from overheating during an extended fight.

Without a word he sat down in the chair in front of her, an expectant expression on his face as he watched her through the mirror. “Do your worst doll.” He said after a moment, a slight inclination of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Hopefully, I can do better than that,” Maggie answered.

Armed with a blow dryer and hairbrush, she worked to blow out Bucky’s hair. The long chestnut locks shone brightly under the fluorescent light and the warm heat of the dryer. It had been a while since she’d handled a blow dryer, but the motions of manipulating both the dryer and the hairbrush were familiar, and she quickly fell back into a comfortable rhythm.

Bucky watched her, his eyes following her in the mirror, his hands clasped together, but his expression wasn’t cold, his hands weren’t clinched. He was just simply _observing _her as he had observed her just minutes ago, braiding her hair.

“All done!” She announced as she turned off the blow dryer, collecting both the blow dryer and burns in her left hand, she placed her right on his shoulder.

Reaching over with his left hand, he brought her hand to his lips, kissing it gently. The metal of the prosthesis was surprisingly warm, and Maggie could feel the whirl of the inter mechanisms that enabled movement work delicately to clasp her hand. “Thank you.” He murmured.

“Always.” She replied. “We should finish getting you ready, though,” She added, leaning down, she kissed his jaw as he let go of her hand.

Bucky nodded and rose to his feet. Maggie returned the hairdryer and brush to its place, slipping on her bracelets and wrapping her grandfather’s rosary back around her wrist.

Turning, she found Bucky inspecting the jacket. It was a deep navy with black trim and, like the undershirt, only had one arm, likely allowing the prosthesis a full range of motion. There was an array of buckles, zippers, and clasps on the front, and while the design was modern, there was just the faintest hint of something old, nearly nostalgic about the styling of the jacket overall.

“Do you like it?” Bucky asked as he removed it from where it was hanging, holding it out at arm’s length.

“It looks like your Howling Commandos jacket,” She said as the realization struck her.

A small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, and he nodded, “Ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?” Only, he wasn’t speaking to her when he said it. Instead, there was something distant both in time and space as he formed the words. There was a long extended silence as he looked at the jacket before he cleared his throat and nodded again. “Yeah, The Princess and I worked on the design for a while. We thought it would be fitting to draw inspiration from multiple sources.”

“It looks good,” Maggie replied, a sudden tightness in her chest.

Without a word, he unfastened the front clasps and slipped the jacket on. Standing in front of the mirror, his hands worked the zippers, buckles, and clasps, slowly securing himself in the garment.

“Are you sure you don’t want to put your hair up?” She asked, watching as he pulled his hair from the collar of the jacket.

“That really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Bucky chuckled, adjusting the bottom of the jacket as he turned to her.

“It seems like a liability to me,” She answered, removing her auxiliary hair tie from her back pocket, extended it to him. “You don’t have to put your hair up now, but in case you decide later that you want to, you have that option.”

Bucky took it from her, hesitantly, “Are you sure you want me to have it?”

“I’ll get it back from you after.” She replied with a small smile.

He nodded, sliding it into the interior breast pocket of his jacket, “Thank you.” He said.

“Of course.”

Nothing further was said as he continued getting ready, strapping a bracer on his right arm and thigh sheath on his right leg. As he added the last elements of his outfit, it dawned on Maggie that she had never seen Bucky battle-ready in person. For that matter, she’d never seen Riley, Sam, Steve, or Nat in their battle rattle in person either. She’d seen them in photographs, sure, but this was a new experience.

_It’s still him under all of that. It’s the same person._ He had to remind herself over and over as she watched him, his jaw grit and brow furrowed in concentration.

“I’m going to be briefed. Do you want to stay here or come with me?”

His voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and she found him standing in front of her, a message on his Kimoyo bracelet open.

“I’ll go with you.”

“You’ll have to wait outside,” Bucky warned.

Maggie wanted to protest this, wanted to ask, why? After all, if there was a worldwide threat coming their way, didn’t she have a right to know? But looking at Bucky’s expression, she knew there wasn’t much use in resisting what she was being told. “I’ll go with you.” She repeated.

“They’ll be here in a few minutes when they’re ready for me.” He explained. Pausing, he surveyed her critically a moment. “How are you holding up?”

How the _fuck_ did he expect her to answer that? But then again, this wasn’t about her. She wasn’t the one getting ready to run off into battle. It wasn’t her life literally on the line. She was here to put on a brave face and wish him off to war, even when she felt as though she was dying on the inside. Even when she was afraid she might be ripped in half if she thought too long about the circumstances beyond her control at work here. “Not too bad.” She answered with a small smile. “Just realizing I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this in person.”

“Oh.” He intoned, slightly taken aback. “Well, what do you think?”

Maggie could see both the hesitance and expectation in his expression and hear the slight waver of uncertainty in his voice. She couldn’t tell him what she really thought because he already knew that she preferred her one-armed goat herder, that she didn’t want him to go out and fight, and that she’d rather be anywhere than here right now. So instead, she smiled, rising to her feet, and crossed the space between them, smoothing out the collar of his jacket, and the creases in the shoulder, she pecked him on the cheek and stepped back, “You look ready.” It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the question he was asking.

Bucky knew that too. He knew she was deflecting, and he might’ve called her on it if, at that exact moment, there hadn’t been a knock at the door. “You have everything?” He asked, instead.

“Yeah,” Maggie answered, collecting her backpack and satchel.

“Let's go.” He replied, opening the door and leading her out into the hallway.

They wound through the palace corridors, which were bustling with people and activity, nervous energy descending over everyone.

The palace guard stopped outside an office door (which Maggie recognized as the same office where she’d been debriefed when she first arrived in Wakanda), and opening it, gestured for Bucky to enter.

“Wait here. I’ll be out in a minute.” Bucky said firmly.

Maggie nodded and watched as he entered and waited until the door shut behind him before she sunk down on the bench just outside.

Watching as people rushed past, Maggie’s mind wandered as the minutes seemed to stretch on into an eternity, allowing the multitude of questions to take root in her addled brain, and start to grow lives of their own.

Where were Steve, Sam, Nat, and Wanda? What had happened that required the Wakandans (and by extension Bucky) to get involved? Where were the rest of the Avengers? Was Stark going to be involved? What had happened to the Sokovia Accords and the United Nations panel that was governing superhero activity? Did they have a say in any of this? What the hell was going to happen to her? 

Before she could overwhelm herself entirely with the endless list questions and even more expansive list of possible answers, the office door opened, and the guard motioned for her to enter.

Rising and walking into the office she found Bucky, The King, and the General waiting for her, a series of hologram pucks were laid out around the table, meaning that whatever briefing had just occurred, it had been primarily a remote one.

Silently, she sunk down beside Bucky and nodded to the King and General, who were watching her with careful expressions.

“I am sure you have a number of questions. But for the sake of time, safety, and clarity, we will tell you what you need to know.” The King explained, “Over the past twelve hours there have been two extraterrestrial attacks first in New York and then in Edinburgh. Captain Rogers, Agent Romanoff, Samuel Wilson, and their associates are headed to Wakanda to protect a high priority target and prevent him from falling into enemy hands. We assume they will be pursued, and we are taking defensive measures to ensure the protection and safety of both the asset and everyone currently residing in Wakanda. They will be here shortly, and you will be permitted to remain with Barnes until they arrive. When the fighting comes, you will wait out the battle with my mother, and the other members of the Tribal Council of Wakanda. When the battle is over, you will be allowed to return to your village.”

So there it was laid out, clear, concise, and to the point. She had questions, but there wasn’t time for that. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, the King’s Kimoyo bracelet buzzed. Both the King and general glanced down, before looking back up at her and then over at Bucky. “They are here and will be landing in a moment. Barnes, hand over your kimoyo beads to Magdalene for safekeeping. Both of you come with us.”

Maggie nodded as Bucky wordlessly handed over his bracelet, his hand squeezing hers as he did. They rose and walked after The King and the General.

Her heart started pounding, her pulse racing. Sam and Steve and Nat and the others were almost here, meaning that she was getting ready to have to leave Bucky so that he could go and fight aliens or something. He would have to go fight aliens with Sam and Steve and Nat and the King, and she was going to have to stand by, useless.

Somehow she had convinced herself that this moment wasn’t going to happen. She’d been doing so well too: going through the motions, staying calm, putting on a brave face for Bucky, so that he wouldn’t feel guilty, so he wouldn’t be worried or afraid for her so that she could send him off with a positive attitude and a smile. Aside from her slip up back at the hut, she’d kept calm, but now as they were walking toward the Quinjet, walking toward the moment they’d been preparing for, the moment that she’d known was coming, Maggie wasn’t sure if she’d be able to keep up the façade much longer.

Maggie froze, her legs stopped working, and she stood, glued to the spot. Bucky stopped beside her, the King and General went a few paces more before they realized she and Bucky had stopped walking. “I’ll be right behind you,” Bucky said, The King nodded, and kept walking with the General without a word.

“Come here, doll.” Bucky murmured, guiding her to one side of the hall. Then, he cupped her face with his hands, blocking out everything around them, and slowly lifted her face to him. “I know you’re scared, and you have every reason in the world to be scared. It’s okay.” He soothed, his voice low, and soft, his thumbs wiping at the tears streaming down her face. “But I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay?”

Maggie took a deep breath, and then another, and they stood there a minute breathing together, her hands closed around his wrists, focusing on her breathing, wanting for nothing more than to shut everything out. Shut the world out, Shut the situation out, but the world wasn’t going to wait. It needed Bucky, Steve needed Bucky, and she knew she was going to have to let him go.

“Whatever happens next, you’re going to be okay, Mags.” He said firmly, his eyes locked on her.

Maggie nodded, swallowing hard she took a deep breath, and released his wrists, dropping her hands to her side.

“We gotta move, doll.”

She nodded again. Taking his hand, they continued walking. By the time they reached the main level of the palace, the quinjet had already landed. “Wait here,” Bucky instructed. “I’ll let Wilson know where you’re at.”

Maggie said nothing, watching as Bucky was swept away and outside where the King, The General, and detail of palace guards were receiving the Avengers landing party. _You’re going to see Sam and the others in a minute pull yourself together. _Maggie silently scolded herself as she wiped at her eyes and tried to get a grip on what she was feeling. _Everyone is scared, Magdalene. You can’t be the weak link in that chain. You have to be brave for them._

“Mags!” She was pulled from her thoughts at the sound of Sam’s voice. Looking up, she saw him approaching her, dressed in his full uniform and wings. Just beyond him, was Steve talking in grave tones with The King.

“Sam!” Maggie answered, running to him to closing the distance. Colliding into him, She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close to her. “God, it's so good to see you, Sammie.” She breathed, her whole body shaking.

“You too, Mags,” Sam answered, pulling back they surveyed one another. “You alright?”

Maggie nodded. She probably looked like hell eyes red and puff, cheeks pink from tears that she’d only managed to dry a few minutes before. “I’m alright, a little tired.” She lied. “You okay?”

“I’ll feel better when we’re in the clear,” Sam said gravely. “You have a safe place to wait this out?”

“Yeah. I have a safe place to wait this out.” Maggie answered, glancing behind him at Steve as he approached.

“Steve.” She nodded in greeting as he reached them, Bucky just behind.

“Ramirez.” There was a moment where she could see him, Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not Cap’, just Steve uncertain and so very very afraid, despite his resolve to do whatever was necessary.

She wanted to hug him tight and protect him, protect them all from what was to come. They said nothing, a look of firm understanding passed between them. Something almost apologetic in his expression, as if he had any say in the matter.

“Sam, Buck, you’ll stay down here on the landing pad with Rhodes. I’m going with Vision and the others to the lab with the Princess and The King.” Steve said. He glanced back at her, as though he wanted to say something.

“Stay safe out there, boys. I’ll see you when you get back.” Maggie managed before they could turn away, trying with all her might to sound confident and sure, trying to send them off to war like some Spartan mother or wife from a bygone era.

In silent unison, they gathered around her, enveloping her in a hug. It was no more than a few seconds, but she savored every moment, fighting the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that this would be the last time they would all be together. Steve broke away first, followed by Sam, and then finally Bucky, who squeezed her hand three times before letting go.

Then, just as Bucky Stepped away, a guard appeared motioning for her to follow him. Maggie nodded, glancing around at the assembled company watching her. Nodding firmly to them, she turned and followed the guard. She didn’t look back.

Maggie wanted to look back. She wanted with all of her might to cast one more look over her shoulder and see them all together, but not like this, not when the world was apparently hanging in the balance, and their lives were at stake. Maggie wished desperately that they could go back to that night on the rooftop under the stars when they’d spent one blissful moment without a thought or a care in the world.

Perhaps she should turn now, and run back for a last kiss, a last hug, a last whispered _be safe._ But she and the guard had already started downward into the weaving and winding bowels of the palace. Her chance had passed, and whatever happened next, she would just have to pray that she’d get the opportunity for another kiss, another hug, another moment. Now, all she could do was wait, hope, and pray, that they’d be able to get their quiet evening in, wishing like hell she’d done what Bucky had suggested and stayed in bed with him a little longer.

-

Bucky watched as Maggie was led away and out of sight. He’d held his breath, something in him hoping that she’d look back at him one last time. Bucky had been almost sure she was going to. She was going to look back, smile, and give him a thumbs up. Just as she had done only a few months ago at the prosthesis fitting. Only now, this wasn’t a test run. This wasn’t a simulation. This was real. This was going to be a fight for their lives.

He exhaled slowly as she disappeared around the corner, no last glance over her shoulder. Had that been her way of protecting him, or had she been protecting herself? Bucky didn’t know, but he could still see the abject terror in her eyes when they’d been in the hallway, hear her shallow breaths, and feel the way she’d grasped his wrists.

He couldn’t imagine what she was feeling, what she was going through right at this moment. She had been so brave and so strong and had done her best to hold all of it in, but even he knew it was too much for a single person to bear. It had been nearly too much for him to handle at New Year’s Eve when the threat had been smaller, but now with this? He couldn’t imagine being the one staying behind, watching as loved ones went off to fight.

_Whatever happens next, you’re going to be okay._ That hadn’t been the most eloquent or even more reassuring thing he could tell her, but at the time, it had been the only truth he could give her. He wouldn’t lie to her, not when the odds were stacked so high against them. Not when that might be one of the last things he ever told her.

She was going to be okay. The Wakandans were going to keep her safe. That was enough for Bucky. In the long list of worries and uncertainties, he was grateful that Mags was going to be in a safe location out of harm’s reach, so far as anyone could be out of harm’s way in a world-ending battle against an apparently genocidal extraterrestrial. Now he had to focus. Focus on the fight ahead, focus on staying alive, focusing on helping Steve and the others take the day.

Bucky was quickly led to the armory, where he was presented with an M249 SAW Paratrooper fitted with a hundred round casket magazine, an array of knives, and additional magazines. He was also given a comm and linked up with the others, the crackle of radio silence nearly deafening as everyone waited in anticipation for the fight that was getting ready to drop on them like a ton of bricks.

Properly outfitted, he was swept just as quickly back to the landing pad where Rhodes and Wilson were on patrol.

They walked the length of the pad, waiting and watching. They didn’t know what they were waiting or watching for, only that they would know it when they saw it.

Glancing down, he realized that he and Wilson had drifted closer in their patrol. Bucky nodded at him, and Wilson nodded in return.

Nothing more needed to be done or said.

_Did he and Mags get a chance to say goodbye? _Bucky knew it didn’t matter if they had. It wasn’t enough time. It never would’ve been enough time.

_You didn’t exactly have much of say, and when you did, you had my six._

That’s what Wilson had said back New Year’s Eve, and it had meant a lot to Bucky that he’d been so willing wave off their past history together when Bucky felt so unworthy.

Now he had an opportunity to start to make right by the Wakandans, by Steve, by Wilson, by the world. Now was his chance to become worthy of the second chances that so many had given him. And maybe, just maybe he’d live long enough feel as though he deserved any of it.

Bucky stopped in his track, glancing skyward as something, a large obelisk shaped craft decloaked, careening toward them.

“Uhh Cap’ we have a situation,” Wilson said as all faces immediately look skyward.

Bucky braced for impact, waiting to feel the heat and hear the roar of engines, even as the rumbling grew in his chest. He and the other’s flinched as the alien craft crashed against a shield dome surrounding the city, protecting it from outside infiltration. 

“God, I love this place.” He said, barely containing a grin as he continued looking skyward, watching the ripple of energy being redistributed from where the impact had occurred.

“Yeah, don’t start celebrating yet, guys. There are more incoming outside the dome.” Rhodes commented dryly.

Sure enough, several more craft were landing, just outside the protective shield wall. On the other side of the comm, Bucky could hear The King issuing orders. Bucky glanced over at Wilson, who was looking at him, his expression blank.

“Good luck,” Wilson nodded as he was given his orders.

“Yeah, you too.” He answered.

Steve, The King, and Natasha exited the palace, and there was the orderly chaos of scrabbling to get everyone in position. Bucky moved with purpose and intent, as not a word was spoken between anyone as they lined up.

The fight had come, and now there was nothing left to do but make it through.

Bucky would make it through this. He didn’t have any other choice. He’d promised Mags an evening in after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then there was only one left! You guys this was a tremendously difficult chapter to write, edit, and get posted, but this was honestly THE Chapter that I've been writing toward since Infinity War came out 2018. I wanted to get Mags and Bucky here, and I hope it is AS painful for you to read as it was for me to write. But NEVER FEAR! The story isn't over yet (nor is the series). I will be posting Chapter 30 in a few days, and then Chapter One for the fourth and final part of the series, "As Time Goes By." Thank you so much for reading along, for commenting, subscribing, leaving Kudos, and bookmarking. I love seeing the various ways everyone interacts with my fic. 
> 
> I hope you continue to read along, I hope you're enjoying (so much as this part of the story can be enjoyed), and until next time Happy Reading!


	30. All Things Come to An End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don’t Sue me! This is the sequel to 'What it means to Disappear’ and is Part III of IV of my “Find Your Way Home” Series. So if you’re confused, that’s why.
> 
> Recommended Listening: Take On Me (Unplugged) by A-ha; Ashes by Celine Dion; Dust in the Wind by Kansas; Empty Chairs at Empty Tables from Les Miserables
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ayENXPUHtyvZCpTi38MX6?si=9_R9-t7ASwKJY2KcJxhLGQ

_Whatever happens next, you’re going to be okay. _

Maggie repeated that phrase to herself over and over and over until it became almost a mantra ringing in her head, driving her heartbeat on, keeping her from spiraling into the what-ifs of the situation.

That had worked for a while.

The problem was the bunker where she, the Queen-mother, and the tribal council of Wakanda, amongst others, were waiting out the firefight above them was quiet. No one was talking, or rather when they spoke, they whispered to one another. There was no news. Not that she would’ve been anywhere close to being on the top of the intel ladder. There were no windows and no noise—nothing to indicate that anything existed beyond the four walls of the bunker.

With no immediate news and certainly nothing to occupy itself with, her brain was loud, and it spun a thousand different scenarios as they waited.

Maggie paced a bit, and when that brought no relief, she turned to prayer. Unwinding her grandfather’s rosary, first, she counted the beads, inspecting them, and then the crucifix with the metal figure of Jesus Christ mounted on the wood. Then she started to pray, silently, the prayers so distant and rusty in her memory she could only really recall the shape rather than the content of the thing.

Still, it felt comforting. Something that she _could _do in the face of total uselessness. It was what her grandparents had done during the Cuban Missile Crisis, or at least that’s what they’d told her when she’d asked how they handled the uncertainty. _We prayed_.

So Maggie prayed too, working her way through each set of mysteries, her mind straining to remember each of the different mysteries and the readings that accompanied them.

As she worked through each set of prayers, she tried not to think of how silly this was. When her grandchildren…or someone’s grandchildren asked her what she’d done during the Battle of Wakanda (or whatever it would be called in the textbooks), she’d have to answer. _I prayed like the bad catholic I am._

While Sam, Steve, Nat, Bucky, the King, and a lot of other people were putting their lives on the line, she’d prayed.

Maggie was so engrossed in what she was doing that she almost didn’t hear the first gasp. Her brain, however, reengaged entirely at the sound of screams. Head shooting up, Maggie jumped to her feet as one of the council leaders, the representative of the River Tribe, dissolved into a cloud of ash and dust.

There were more screams, rising like a tidal wave around her as others dissolved, almost half by Maggie’s count. The noise was deafening, filling the space that had moments ago been as quiet as the grave. Maggie waited, watching her hands, wondering if she was going to dissolve into nothing too. Wondering for a brief moment why she had been spared while others had been chosen. What odds had she just beaten? What had just been lost?

Nothing came, but a wide pit opened in her stomach, and grief moved to fill it, threatening to fill her up and devour her whole.

They’d lost.

_Oh god. They’d lost. _

What that meant, and what they were supposed to do next Maggie didn’t know as she was deafened by the screaming sobs and her own pounding heart.

What was she supposed to do? Who was left? Who could possibly tell her what had happened? Maggie felt the air around her get noticeably warmer, sticking to her skin and in her lungs.

_Air. I need air._

Her feet moved free of any direction from her brain, which was still trying to get a handle of the size, shape, and significance of what they had just seen. But mostly, she just needed some air. No one was paying attention to her, and without protest from anyone else, Maggie headed for the doorway. 

Stumbling through the doors, Maggie nearly ran headlong into Nakia. Stopping just short of a collision, she grabbed Maggie by the wrist, pulling her down the hall.

“What happened? What’s going on?” Maggie barely managed to stammer, shocked to see Nakia, but more surprised that she wasn’t being forced to back into the bunker.

“The Captain sent me to find you. Thank Bast you are still here,” Nakia answered shortly as they wove through the narrow passages at such a dizzying speed, Maggie was nearly jogging to keep up. “You have to leave now.”

Maggie opened her mouth to speak, but Nakia charged on. “You will surrender the Kimoyo bracelets to me. I will return any personal data and effects you may have left behind as soon as I am able. You have my word.”

_Thank Bast, you are still here._ Which meant that what she had seen was happening elsewhere. Who was left? Judging by Nakia’s expression and the rapid speed that she’d retrieved Maggie meant that the king was gone. But Steve was alive. Steve had sent Nakia to find Mags. What about Sam? Bucky? Nat? Where was The Princess? Maggie had expected her to be in the bunker with them, where was she now? What about the rest of the Avengers and Wakandan defenders? If what she had seen in the bunker had happened outside as well, how far did it spread? Was it just Wakanda? Was this a worldwide event? What about the galaxy? Universe? How far did it go? How many lives had been taken? How had she managed to survive it all?

There were a thousand questions and more that Maggie desperately wanted answers to, but knew there would be little information forthcoming. They emerged out onto the ground level, and though the large palace windows Maggie could see the dark and cloudy sky, and she could hear the roll of thunder and feel the crackle of electricity in the air. Yet there was no relief: no rain, no wind, nothing to take the edge off the stifling heat. Maggie and Nakia stopped in the vast empty palace halls, releasing her wrist, Nakia turned to her.

Wordlessly, Maggie slipped both her and Bucky’s Kimoyo bracelet from her wrist and pressed them into the other woman’s palm. “I’m sorry,” Maggie said, her voice dry and rough.

Maggie wished she had more time. Time to go back to collect the rest of her things, time to say goodbye, time to transfer the photos, videos, and data files from her bracelet. Time to say thank you to the people that had rescued her and helped her make this place home for almost two years.

Had Jelani, Tee, and Sisay survived? What about Omondi and the others? Surveying Nakia’s expression, Maggie knew that there was no way to know, no way to assess the damage, no way that either of them could possibly know the scale and scope of what was happening. Right now, Maggie needed to focus on getting back to Steve. There would be time for her questions later.

They waited a moment, in silence, Nakia checking her Kimoyo bracelet, waiting for some signal. When she received it, Nakia wordlessly motioned for Maggie to follow her out to the landing pad. Only hours ago, it had been bustling with activity, the landing pad was silent, still, the grey of the sky above casting a drab hue over everything.

Maggie stopped in her tracks as a transport vehicle approached, carrying a handful of people, too distant at first to make out individual shapes, but the number of people was scant enough to know people were missing, a _lot_ of people.

The transport vehicle stopped no more than 20 to 30 yards away from where she and Nakia were standing, and Maggie was able to take in who was there among the group as they desbarked.

The General was first, followed by a detail of Dora Milaje. Next came Rhodes and Banner, both in beat-up stark tech. Then Thor and a raccoon looking creature. Thor had transformed since last she’d seen him, his hair was shorn, and he carried a massive battle-ax rather than his hammer. Stopping as he exited the vehicle, he turned back to Steve, who came next, carrying something in his arms, wrapped in Thor’s cape. 

Not something, _someone_, she realized, judging by its size and shape.

Thor set down the ax, he took the load from Steve, turning to the gurney that had been rushed from the quinjet to the transport vehicle by Rhodes and Banner.

Setting the body down, Maggie caught a glimpse of who’s was inside as a lifeless grey hand slipped from the folds of the cape.

Vision.

But _how_, Maggie had thought he was invincible based on what Sam had told her.

_Sam. _Sam? Maggie’s eyes scanned the rest of the people deboarding. He wasn’t amongst them.

_Bucky? _

Maggie watched Steve as he walked toward where she and Nakia were standing, Natasha right behind him. His eyes were down, shoulders sagging. Natasha, wouldn’t meet Maggie’s gaze. It felt like it was happening in slow motion, just like the sedan pulling down the driveway and the men in crisply pressed uniforms.

They were gone.

Steve stopped in front of them, his gaze directed toward Nakia. “Is there anything we can do?”

“You need to leave,” Nakia answered firmly.

“I understand,” Steve nodded.

Nakia returned the nod, her normally graceful and smooth features were pulled and pinched in pain, confusion, and grief. Then she turned her attention to her, “I will be in touch, Magdalene.” She squeezed her shoulder.

“Thank you.” Maggie managed. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, but it would have to do in the circumstances.

Without another word, Nakia turned and walked back into the palace, following the General and the others who were trailing inside. _The king was gone too._ It was the only explanation for his absence now, and Nakia’s curt instructions. The powers that had allowed them safe refuge inside Wakanda were no more. They needed to leave before the other powers that be decided to detain them.

_How many more are gone?_

Maggie leveled her gaze on Natasha and Steve, who were watching her, bracing for some kind of reaction. “I’m glad you’re both safe.” She said, hugging first Natasha before she turned to hug Steve.

Before she did, she looked up into Steve’s face, surveying his expression. _That expression._ Maggie would know that look anywhere. It was the same look Sam had worn the first time they’d seen each other after—oh god Sam.

Her breath caught in her chest. He’d always been so strong for her. His smile and light and energy bright enough to light up any space. No more, never again.

It was almost too much to bear. She’d said goodbye to Bucky, she knew it was probable, likely even that they’d one day part like this, but Sam? Something in her had refused to believe that Sam would die like this. Her brain couldn’t contemplate this, couldn’t comprehend or understand the notion that Sam Wilson, friend, and partner was gone, forever.

“Maggie—I,” Steve began, his voice cracking.

“I know, Steve.” She said, embracing and holding him tight.

In truth, Maggie didn’t know what he was going to say, but there were only so many variations on the old tired lines she’d heard so many times before. There was nothing Steve could say that might make sense of what was happening. Nothing that would ease the pain growing and building in her chest, threatening to rip her apart.

Taking a step back, they wordlessly crossed the landing pad and started up the ramp of the quinjet. Reaching the interior cabin, Maggie did a silent role call: Rhodes, Banner, Thor, and the raccoon thing waited inside, Steve and Natasha at her back.

“Who the hell’s this?” The Raccoon thing asked with a rough growl.

“A friend,” Thor answered curtly before he nodded to her.

Maggie nodded in return. _What the hell happened?_ She wanted to ask him, but just as she opened her mouth to speak, Maggie snapped it shut again as the sound of the ramp retracting, closing off the rear door behind her, cut her off. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched as Wakanda shrunk to a sliver and then disappeared entirely.

“Better strap in, we’ll be taking off soon,” Natasha instructed flatly.

_Where are we going? _Was Maggie’s first question, but where else would they be going? Back to the compound, of course.

She glanced around before taking a seat. _No Sam, No Wanda, No Bucky._ Her internal monologue intoned her gazed faltering only a moment in its survey of the quinjet cabin as it fell on the lifeless grey form of Vison who was laid out on the center console of the quinjet. While wrapped in Thor’s cape, Maggie could still see his forehead where a stone had once been, now empty.

That was the only body on board. The only one with remains to bring home. Meaning the rest had dissolved into a cloud of dust. She wouldn’t even have to body to bury. No tombstone to visit, no place to lay flowers. No one would.

_What the fuck happened? _She wanted to scream loudly, over and over until she got some kind of answer. But no one with the information she was looking for was in any shape to answer. Tearing her gaze away from the body of Vision, she glanced around at the others, hoping perhaps to catch their eye, but instead was met with their thousand-yard stares. No one talked. In fact, the only sounds were the roar of the engine and the unintelligible radio chatter crackling loudly in the cockpit, punctuated only by Steve and Rhodes exchanging flight information.

_This was happening everywhere. _

The frantic radio chatter meant that this was happening everywhere. How many? How many had been lost to this…this...thing?

She couldn’t fathom what it might mean.

Where was Stark? Who or what was capable of something like this? What about the whole SNAFU with the United Nations and the Sokovia Accords? Did the government consider her a fugitive? What would it matter now that someone or something had dissolved a large number of people? Had it hurt to be dissolved? Had they been in any pain? Where did they go? Could they be gotten back?

Maggie didn’t know, but those questions and a thousand more ran through her head for the duration of the flight. They flew from Wakanda to Atlanta, for a quick stop off, before flying from Atlanta back to the compound.

As they made their final approach, Maggie watched the inhabitants of the quinjet slowly come to life, or as close to life as they could manage. Blinking and shaking their heads, flexing their hands, and rubbing their faces, each of them tried to return energy to their bodies, with only marginal success.

They landed, and there was a flurry of activity as Banner, Rhodes, Thor, and Steve discussed what they were going to do with Vison’s body and the process of getting communications back online to get in contact with whoever was left.

Maggie felt numb. !uickly unbuckling her safety harness and grabbing her backpack and satchel she slipped out of the quinjet and walked down the ramp. Before her was the large sprawling Avengers compound, she wasn’t sure if she could feel something positive about being back on American soil, but instead found a sort of resentment growing in her chest instead. _I thought I’d never see this place again._

She’d never _wanted_ to see this place again. Yet here she was.

“Hey. Where are you going?” Maggie turned back to find Natasha approaching her.

“Was trying to get out of the way. The last thing you guys need is another person in the mix,” Maggie managed her voice choked, practically gravely as she used it for the first time in hours.

“Stark kept your apartment for you,” Natasha answered, extending a key to her.

Maggie had many questions, namely, why Natasha was carrying around her apartment key, but in the given circumstances, she wouldn’t press too hard. “Thank you.”

“Do you still remember the way?”

Maggie nodded, glancing the other woman up and down, before glancing behind her, at the honor guard procession that was escorting Vision’s body toward the compound. “Where will you be?” Maggie asked, feeling foolish as she did.

“Fixing this.” Steve’s voice cut through the silence as he walked up beside Natasha.

_How Steve? How? _She wanted to scream as she shook him so hard his head might very well fly from his neck, but she didn’t. Instead, she just nodded, “So you’ll be in R&D or one of the common areas, got it.”

Steve nodded before he motioned to Natasha, who also nodded, turning back to Maggie. A wide range of emotions crossed Natasha’s expression, only for a moment, before settling in stony determination. “Go. I’ll come find you guys later.” Maggie said firmly.

They said nothing as they both turned and followed behind the others, leaving Maggie out on the helipad by herself. Slowly, Maggie exhaled.

_Breathe. Just Breathe. _She reminded herself.

Glancing around at the trees and fields that surrounded the sprawling Avengers campus, Maggie couldn’t help but notice how quiet everything was. No birds were singing, no bugs chirping, or making their usual noises. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart in her ears, and the slow, ragged breaths she drew in and expelled out.

_Stark kept your apartment for you._

Maggie felt a whole myriad of mixed emotions at the thought of her apartment being the same, and that Stark hadn’t allowed it to be molested by any number of federal or international agencies that might want to stick their nose into her business.

Well, she didn’t know that for sure. Yet.

Taking another couple deep breaths, Maggie started into the compound, her feet guiding her as her mind did it’s best to make her completely numb. Sam, Bucky, King T’Challa, Princess Shuri Wanda, and countless others were gone without a trace.

She couldn’t wrap her mind around the sheer magnitude of the thing.

When she eventually made it to the front door, she inserted the key and turned the knob, trying not to think how familiar all of this felt. Like she was walking over her own grave, retracing the steps of the person she used to be.

Reaching inside the door, she felt for the light switch, and flicking on the lights, Maggie stopped in the doorway she took in the scene around her.

The place was pristine. Stark had obviously had cleaners come through regularly because there wasn’t a speck of dust or dirt in the place. All of the furniture still stood where she’d left it. Yet, she knew the true test of stark’s generosity would be her office.

Stepping inside the apartment, she closed and locked the door behind her, marching purposefully to the office door. Swinging the door open and turning on the light, it took everything Maggie had not to gasp.

It was all still there: Her work station, her gigantic wall map, her bookshelves, her grubby Craigslist couch. Everything as she had left it, the desk calendar still marked for June 2016, each box on the calendar filled full to bursting with her tidy cursive detailing her road trip specifics. The wall map was still pinned with documents, red thread connecting the various points of confirmed contact, cold or dead leads, and potential or pending leads.

It was like a time capsule, standing still at the brink of moment Maggie now knew would be filled with change, and upheaval, and utter chaos.

Here she was, back where she’d been two years before like nothing had happened.

Setting her backpack and satchel down on the couch, Maggie went to the desk. Her hands remembering before her brain could piece together what she was doing, she removed the plastic container of pins from the top drawer and selected two from the package.

Then she turned to the map. Dragging the step stool along the wall to the continent of Africa, she placed the first pin very carefully in the region just south of the Wakandan Capital. Adjusting the stool again, she placed the second pin on Bucharest, Romania. Without looking up to admire her new additions, she returned to her desk, removed a pencil from the drawer, and revised the map legend she’d stuck to the desk’s top.

‘Blue- Found, Purple- Resides.’

Resides. It wasn’t true, but Maggie couldn’t bear the thought of putting anything in the past tense. Not quite yet.

Rounding the desk and stepping back, she surveyed her work, the two brightly colored pins starkly contrasted by a sea of black pins--dead ends.

Maggie paused. Her brain was expecting something. Glancing over her shoulder, for a half-second, Maggie was absolutely convinced Sam would be standing there, arms crossed, watching her while she looked at her map with a knowing smirk.

_What are you still here working on?_ He would’ve asked, followed by, _When was the last time you had anything to eat?_

Maggie hated that question. Though she always knew deep down, Sam was in the right, and that it had been too long since she’d eaten anything substantial. _Okay, mother hen!_

_Hey, I’m just askin’ the real questions here. _He would’ve thrown his hands up in mock defense.

But the doorway was empty, and Sam would never fill it again.

_Never._

The force of the word hit her like a punch to the gut, and she sunk down on the couch. The chasm that had been growing and gnawing at her in the pit of her stomach began to fill with regret and fear and shame and utter despair. Filled to the brim, she started to sob, tears coming fast and hard that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to catch her breath. Then, just as it was about to overwhelm her totally, the tears subsided, as did the feelings ebbed away to almost nothing, leaving exhaustion in their wake.

Yet, Maggie knew no sleep would come, no relief from the pain. She remembered this. She’d been here before with a grief so deep she hadn’t been able to get out bed.

Last time Suzanne and Bill had staged an intervention, but they weren’t here now. God alone knew where they might be. So what was there for her to do?

Maggie knew she couldn’t lay in bed for days, couldn’t neglect her responsibilities, couldn’t lose herself in a pit of black depression. Not when the whole world felt like it was on fire, not when there was so much work she had to do.

She could grieve. She should grieve, but right now, what did she _need_ to do?

She needed to unpack, shower, and eat in no particular order. That was doable. That was actionable. That was a short term goal that was marginally attainable.

After a wiping her face a momoment longer, Maggie pushed herself into a sitting position. She would shower, then figure out the rest once she managed that great feat.

Rising, she walked through the apartment, turning off the air conditioning and opening the windows.

Entering the bedroom, Maggie opened her closet and dresser. All of her clothes were there, nothing out of place or missing, except the brightly colored garments she’d purchased or made or been given for almost two years in Wakanda. Pulling out a drab t-shirt and pair of jeans, she proceeded to the bathroom.

The large shower was loud and echoing as she turned on the tap, unlike her bathtub back in Wakanda, which would’ve let her listen to the sounds of the evening set in. Maggie unwrapped a bar of soap, and fished out shampoo, and stepping into the nearly scalding water, she washed away Wakanda. The day had been long, and dirt and sweat and the grime of the miles traveled, washed away. Yet, as she watched it swirl down the drain, she felt as though part of her was washing away. As if the past two years had never happened, like none of it even mattered.

Drying off, Maggie dressed, the clothes hung off her. She’d lost weight while she was in Wakanda._ So there was some of me I left behind. _Maggie might have chuckled had she found any humor in the situation.

Instead, her wet hair hanging freely uncombed and loose, she padded around the apartment barefoot, returning to the office to complete her next task.

Sitting down on the couch, she unzipped her backpack. Opening the top, Maggie faltered as she saw what was on the top of the pile.

_Hold onto this for me._ He’d said, handing her his scarf, the one she’d made him for his birthday.

The small square of fabric was only a small portion of the yardage she’d bought—he’d bought for her that she’d made into a jumpsuit. Of course, that outfit was with the rest of her possessions in Wakanda, in her home, in her and Bucky’s home. All that remained, the only evidence of that purchased now lay in front of her.

Maggie blinked hard, focusing on the square of fabric. She could see the creased from the knot she’d untied while she was folding it for storage. Raising it from the bag with both hands, Maggie admired the color and patterns before lifting it to her face breathing in as multitude of smells assaulted her senses: goat, grass, dirt, sweat, woodsmoke, along with the smell of their soap hints of ginger, cardamom, and cinnamon. It smelled like Bucky. It smelled like home.

It was gone, all of it was gone. Their perfect moment was over, and now it was nothing more than a memory, no more tangible than dust and smoke.

But it had been real, it had mattered, and if she could somehow hold on to that fact, then maybe she could make it through this.

Maggie squeezed her eyes shut, hoping against all hope that this was somehow a horrible dream and that at any moment she was going to wake up and find Bucky lying beside her, watching, waiting to comfort her. He would’ve wrapped her in their blanket, which was also still in Wakanda, and he would’ve pulled her into an embrace, and stroked her hair.

They’d had plans. They were going to spend the evening in. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Setting the scarf down, Maggie swiped at the tears that had started to fall. _It’s not fair_, rang out over and over and over in her head.

_It doesn’t matter that it’s not fair._

Maggie took a couple deep, calming breaths.

_You don’t have to unpack right now. _

She knew she didn’t have to try to get through that right now. She would eventually have to unpack, but not right now.

Maggie paused, looking around, the silence of the apartment, of the compound, of the world bearing in around her.

Then, her stomach growled, breaking the silence, and she sighed, nodding to herself.

_Food._ She needed to eat. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten something substantial, and having something on her stomach would help her keep a more level head. She would need all of her strength to get through the coming days. 

Rising from the couch, she walked to the kitchen. Bracing herself, she opened the fridge, exhaling slightly as she found it was completely empty. Well, as touching as it would’ve been to find a fully stocked fridge, Maggie was more thankful it wasn’t full of two-year-old leftovers, crusted over condiments, and rotting produce. Opening her pantry doors, she found similarly that everything was cleared out, leaving nothing but an empty cupboard.

_Not even a can of beans or bag of rice left._ It felt so barren, so naked, so _hopeless. _No matter how bad things had gotten after her mother’s death, or even Riley’s death, Maggie had always had a bag of rice and a can of beans. Now, she didn’t even have that.

Tears seized her throat at the sight, and she squeezed her eyes shut, again taking several deep breaths. _Okay, okay. What’s next? What’s the next step?_

The common room kitchen. It would have a fully stocked pantry and fridge since people were more regularly circulating through that kitchen than her private apartment kitchen.

Pulling on a pair of socks, her house shoes, and a cardigan, she collected her keys and, after locking her apartment door behind her, started down toward the common area kitchen.

Maggie walked down the halls, practically floating in a fog as her mind spun, and her stomach churned. She needed to make dinner, she needed to eat, and if she was thinking those things, she knew that she wouldn’t be alone.

When Maggie arrived in the common area kitchen, she immediately started opening the pantry doors inspecting its contents and the contents of the two full-sized fridge and freezers. Her brain took a mental stock before she started grabbing things out of the pantry and fridge, pulling pots from their cabinets.

She didn’t know what she was making, only that there was something to make. After all, she needed to eat, and at the moment, _what_ it was she was eating was of secondary importance. Her hands worked completely separate from the rest of her. Her focus was on continuing to breathe, continuing to intake and exhale air from her lungs, willing her body not to completely shut down under the weight of grief that radiated through the universe and through her very soul.

Sam’s sisters and mother, had they made it? What about Becca’s children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren? Her friends and volunteers on Last Chance, how many had survived? What about the Marias and everyone in Juarez in the Llorna network? The Wakandans, too, she hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, not really, and all she could hear was the screams and the sobbing that had filled the safe room in the palace. How many had made it? Maggie didn’t know, and at this point, she didn’t want to know the answer. She just had to survive. She just had to keep going. She just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

_Whatever happens next, you’re going to be okay._

“What are you making?” The voice was hoarse and low, and she looked up to see none other than Bruce Banner, creeping slowly up to the kitchen island where she was working.

Maggie looked down to see her hand covered in flour. She was rolling out tortillas. She’d chopped onion, garlic, tomatoes, and jalapeños into a passable pico de gallo, and had ground beef thawing under a running tap of hot water. “I don’t know.” She managed after a moment, glancing around. “But, you’re welcome to stay if you haven’t eaten.”

“That sounds good, what do you need help with.”

“Chop more onion and garlic, brown the meat.” She said haltingly, as her brain slowly wrapped itself around what she was making. “Tacos, rice, and beans.”

“Okay.” He answered simply.

They worked in silence, the smell of onion, garlic, and then ground beef filling the space before she started cooking the tortillas on the stove.

Maggie turned at a slightly mechanical sound and found Rhodes standing at the island countertop. “If you wanna help, there’s lettuce and tomatoes to chop.” She paused, as Natasha appeared behind him, “And cheese to grate.” 

They both nodded wordlessly and entered the kitchen, going about their individual tasks. If anyone spoke, they did so in slow, low whispers. Maggie added a variety of spices to the pan before allowing Banner to continue cooking the ground beef. At length Thor and a Raccoon looking creature with a jumpsuit and backpack, apparently named Rocket, also entered the kitchen, and Maggie instructed them to set the table and get everyone a glass of water.

Taking a deep breath, Maggie glanced around at the assembled group. They were all freshly showered, but the shadows of the battle were still on them, clinging to their skin, their clothes, and their minds. She could see it in the way they moved, the long and distant stares, the ghostly expressions that occupied their features.

Dinner is ready if you want to grab a plate and help yourself. I’ve made more than enough.” She said, breaking the silence as gently as she could manage.

“Thank you, Ramirez.” Colonel Rhodes said, followed by a chorus of ‘thank yous; from the rest of the group.

“Of course. No problem.” Maggie paused, glancing around.

Steve was missing.

She turned to Natasha and opened her mouth to speak when she heard the soft familiar footfalls in the doorway behind her. Whirling around, she laid eyes on Steve Rogers. He had changed from his uniform and was dressed down in a white t-shirt and pair of baggy grey sweatpants. His face was somber, and his eyes dry as he looked her up and down. “Would you like to join us, Steve? There’s plenty to eat.” She said before he could formulate the words.

Steve nodded, and moving more like a machine than a living breathing human being, he grabbed a plate and joined the others.

They sat in silence, none of them really eating much, but each of them making a spirited attempt. Maggie, too wasn’t really hungry. Well, she was hungry; she just didn’t really feel like eating. Each bite and successive chewing action felt like an insurmountable task, but she took them one after another, just like everyone else present.

She could feel their despair, their anger, their frustration. She could feel the cogs turning in all of their heads as they replayed over and over what had happened.

_Fixing this._ Is what Steve had said. Did he really think they could fix this? How could they possibly fix this?

Maggie didn’t know, and she wasn’t in a position to ask. After all, she hadn’t been there. She wasn’t the one who might have had a chance to stop it. No fault, no blame, no guilt could be placed on her shoulders, but she could see that it was a weight so heavy that it looked as though it was going to crush what remained of the Avengers beneath it.

One by one, as they finished, each individual washed and put away their plate, quietly excusing themselves until it was just her, Steve, and Natasha sitting at the table. Maggie watched them both, Steve staring down at his plate, a half-eaten taco laying there, the lettuce limp, the tortilla soggy.

“I’m sorry for asking,” Steve began slowly, his voice laden with anguish and dread. “But do you have the contact information for Sam’s family?” Tears choked his last few words as he struggled to get them out.

“I do. I was going to make that call as soon as I could manage it. I was also going to reach out to James Rodriguez-Proctor.”

“You don’t have to do that. You don’t need to make that call.” Steve shook his head.

“I want to. It’s important to me.”

There was another long pause before Natasha spoke, rising to her feet, “I’m going back to the lab. You should try to get some rest, Steve.”

“You both should,” Maggie interjected.

Natasha nodded, holding Maggie’s gaze, something passed over her expression. Not necessarily defiance, but instead something that Maggie could only label as approaching compromise. “Steve, go with Mags. I’ll be by when the first shift is over.” She said firmly.

The use of her nickname made Maggie’s chest tighten as a lump formed in her throat, something deep in the pit of her stomach twisting. Why had Natasha done that? Had she known that’s what Sam and Bucky called her? Was this a tactical use of her name to get Steve to cooperate? Maggie didn’t know., but she did catch hidden meaning in her words, _Steve shouldn’t be alone._

“There’s enough space for everyone,” Maggie continued. “We have the bed, couch, floor, sleeper sofa. We can have everyone at the compound in my place if need be.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Steve said gravely.

As if that was the most pressing thing on his mind? On any of their minds? Maggie hesitated, momentarily uncertain of how she wanted to respond until the idea of spending the night alone in that huge apartment by herself floated to the front of her mind. “I don’t want to be alone right now, Steve. Please.” Maggie said an audible edge of pleading in her voice so thick that even she wasn’t sure if it was real or fake.

There was a beat of silence before Steve nodded, “Okay.” He breathed, glancing up at Natasha. “Call me if anything changes.”

Natasha nodded to him, and then at her before leaving the room without another word. Several moments of silence passed before Maggie spoke again, “Let’s head back Steve,” She motioned to do the door, and by silent consensus, they ambled back down the hallway to her apartment.

Entering, Steve went to the office, as if by some sort of habit. Locking the door behind them, Maggie followed after, stopping in the office doorway, not sure what she was going to find.

Steve was standing still in front of the couch, staring down at her backpack, and at the scarf set neatly on top.

“It’s the scarf you made him for his birthday,” Steve said, his voice low.

“It is.” She nodded. How long ago that all seemed now, and Maggie was surprised he remembered the tiny detail. Yet it was potent, the differences between then and now. The emptiness in that space between them where once Bucky and even before that Sam had once occupied. “You can pick it up if you’d like, it still smells like him.” Maggie couldn’t even bring herself to say his name.

Steve nodded, wordlessly reaching out and taking the scarf in both hands. He sunk down on the couch, his thumbs stroking the fabric, his gaze transfixed on the scarf.

“Was he happy in Wakanda?” He asked.

“Yes.” She answered, knowing it was what Steve needed to hear.

“He seemed happy.”

“You gave him that chance, Steve, you and Sam and Nat, and the others.”

“I put Sam through so much shit. Put you both through so much. Sam deserved better. You all did.” His voice caught in his throat. “It should’ve been me.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head. “It should’ve been me.” His voice was ragged as he said those words.

_Oh. _She knew that feeling intimately. A feeling that had been more a part of her than she could properly explain. _But it wasn’t, and we have to learn to live with that. _That’s what she wanted to say, and probably should’ve said, but she couldn’t make herself say the words.

It was difficult to wrap her head around, and even more difficult to rationalize why some had been spared while others had not. It felt like fighting a hurricane, a tornado, an act of god. It didn’t feel like someone had chosen to do this like this was a rational or thinking perpetrator. Maggie had been able to rationalize what had happened to Riley. It would be much harder to rationalize what had happened with this.

“I’m going to fix this. I don’t care what it takes,” Steve said, his head still down but with more control in his voice.

It was the type of statement Maggie knew she couldn’t fight, and certainly couldn’t argue with and expect to win. She wasn’t even entirely sure he’d been addressing her when he said it.

_Sleep, _they needed sleep. They’d both been longer than they should. Maggie’s thoughts drifted to the mattress in the bedroom. It had approached too soft for her taste back when she was staying here the first time around. Only now, she’d been sleeping on a reed mat on a dirt floor for close to two years. Laying in the bed would bring no sleep. Quickly, her mind devised an alternative.

“I’m going to make up a sleeping mat on the floor. The bed is going to be too soft for me.” She paused, taking the scarf from Steve’s unresisting hands. Carefully Maggie unfolded it and spread it across his broad shoulders, just as Bucky might have done. “I want you to stay. I know I won’t be able to fall asleep alone.”

Steve nodded, his eyes down. He wanted to protest, Maggie could see, but his resolve was wavering moment to moment.

“You won’t be any good to anyone if you don’t have your strength.” She said, holding her breath as she saw steve rationalize through her statement.

He nodded again, looking up at her, “Thank you, Ramirez.” Steve said, “Let me help you.”

“Okay.”

They moved in jerky and uncoordinated motions, but eventually settled on the bedroom floor, with a few lightweight blankets and Bucky’s scarf. Laying down side by side, they said nothing, both lost in their own thoughts. Starring up at the ceiling, Maggie listened as Steve settled beside her, the various night-time noises of the compound creeping in around them. 

Maggie exhaled a long breath.

Right, how could she have forgotten, _breathe._ You have you to remember to breathe.

Eventually, Steve drifted off to sleep, though if she knew anything about soldiers or super soldiers, she knew it wasn’t a deep sleep. His body had simply shut down from the exhaustion, but could be roused at the slightest noise. So Maggie lay as still as possible, even as she struggled to find solace in the dark so Steve could have a reprieve, brief though it may be.

Laying awake, she found herself straining to hear the sounds of the jungle, trying not to think about how Steve’s breathing was different than Bucky’s.

Maggie was grateful Steve was here, she really couldn’t imagine trying to fall asleep alone, not right now, but one warm body didn’t replace another. Focusing on Steve’s breathing, focusing on drawing in air and expelling it, she tried not to think about the fact that she was never roll over to find Bucky watching her as she journaled. Never feel him touch her again. Never hear him laugh when she called him a cheese ball.

She and Sam, they’d never get their time. Never get to make amends. Never get to be friends, good friends, again the way that they’d been before all this shit had happened.

They’d never get their farm together.

There were a thousand things that trillions of people would no longer do because they’d been wiped out of existence. And that loss, that cessation of things they should have been doing, would’ve been doing otherwise was so massive the whole universe felt as if it had stopped.

Maggie was vaguely aware of quiet tears slipping down her cheeks, but she didn’t even have the energy to wipe them away. 

They would make it through this first night and would face the next day together: one step, one breath, one little act of survival at a time.

For two years she’d lived a beautiful, perfect moment. She’d been happy and content. She’d struggled and fought and grown and healed. She’d fallen in love with a difficult, complicated, wonderful man, with the full knowledge that it could all be taken away, that someday it _would _all be taken away.

Now the worst had happened, and their moment had come to an end, she would hold onto her peace, she would hold onto her happiness, and the beauty and growth she had earned. She would hold on with all her might and use it to steel herself to survive this, whatever this exactly was.

_Whatever happens next, you’re going to be okay._

That’s what Bucky had told her, and that was all that was left for her to do. She didn’t have any other choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know! Before you all throw rotten vegetables at me, I AM going to fix this, I promise. You’re just going to have to trust me. 
> 
> Chapter One of Part IV “As Time Goes By” will be posted sometime in the next 24 hours. We aren’t done with Bucky and Mags quiet yet. I still have to get Mags and Bucky home. 
> 
> Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me! Comments and Kudos are appreciated! I hope to hear from many of you as we venture into Pt. IV. 
> 
> Until then, Happy Reading!

**Author's Note:**

> WELCOME BACK EVERYONE! I hope you all enjoyed! I can't wait to share what I have in store for Bucky, Mags, and the gang! Please let me know what you thought! Comments, subscriptions, Kudos, and the like are always welcome!
> 
> As always! Happy Reading!


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